


In the Glass of His Boudoir

by starfirefighter



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 96z all have a lingerie kink, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Dry Humping, Fluff, I used the word whisper more times than the number of seventeen members and the number itself, Lingerie, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, The Author Regrets Everything, This Is So Bad I'm So Sorry, Underwear, Underwear Kink, Wall Sex, appearances of The Fondness, chan is the best dongsaeng btw rule of thumb law of the land so no contradictions, soonhoon are embarrassing, the first scene is inspired by the lightning round episode on Friends, the tags jeon wonwoo and wall sex will soon become inseparable, wonhui on a panty raid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfirefighter/pseuds/starfirefighter
Summary: When a saucy dare turns sweet and sour, who will be the first one to taste the bitter consequences?OrThe fic where Junhui and Wonwoo explore their mutual lingerie kink.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	In the Glass of His Boudoir

**Author's Note:**

> To start off, I just wanted to say that this fic is doubly nerve-wracking for me since it’s only my third time attempting to write smut and my first time writing smut for my favorite ship. This fic is also un-beta-ed and quite messy… So, I hope it turns out alright! (ToT)/
> 
> This fic was actually the love child of a Curious Cat question I had for the WonHui Prime Minister, Swanny_Writer-nim! ꒰◍ˊ◡ˋ꒱੭⁾⁾ You can check out the (embarrassing) thread [here](https://curiouscat.qa/Swanny_Writer/post/1142229787). I tweaked the details ever-so slightly to make it hopefully more cohesive for a fic. All credits to Swanny_Writer-nim’s amazing writer mind for the ideas and for always entertaining our inquiries. She truly houses the warmest WonHui nest, so please send her all the love! ヾ(*'∀`*)ﾉ♡
> 
> With all that said, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you! ٩(๑′∀ ‵๑)۶•*¨*•.¸¸♪
> 
> NOTE: I tried my best to describe lingerie given my limited resources of Google’s Incognito Mode and my brother working 1 foot away from me, so I’ll apologize now if it’s misguided or misled… Please don’t burn me at the stake… ( ˃̵⌓˂̵)

Junhui’s fairly certain that his boyfriend’s pride and desire to win is going to be his downfall one day.

While he may sport a horrible intuition that is second to none and completely at the bottom of the ESP barrel, it doesn’t take a psychic to know that Jeon Wonwoo will stop at nothing to assume victory. Blame it on the younger’s passion for video games or being born with a sibling to compete against at an early age, but something about Wonwoo’s silent determination is a fact he still accommodates to this very day. However, believe him when he says that he finds that attribute downright adorable despite the fiery passion that burns in the middle of his boyfriend’s irises when he’s zeroing in on a metaphorical kill. Something about cute felines with killer instincts, he believes.

It began during their first few dates together. When Wonwoo had flaunted his undefeated streak in Tekken, Junhui didn’t take it too seriously considering his own victory against him at the game. However, he would soon come to regret his hasty conclusion after he spent the next three hours in the arcade witnessing the brutal humbling of unknowing elementary school students who believed themselves to be fighting style masters or ‘Lili experts.’ That would also mark the day the two of them were highly encouraged to stay away from the establishment when the owner sat all the kids down to remind them that only the fake pixelated people should do the kicking, Wonwoo limping all the way back home.

Then there were the weekly work arguments with Mingyu when they first moved in together into their shared dorm. The editor would spend hours on the phone ‘carefully explaining’ his concept for the post-event wrap-up videos he does for a living to the videographer who always seemed to have a differing artistic opinion. However, Junhui doesn’t exactly mind clinging onto Wonwoo during those times, keeping him calm and collected with tiny kitten licks when he gets too worked up.

And then there was the sex that commenced on their second anniversary as a couple, third as friends who both reached for the same light brown tabi cat at the same time in the cat café Junhui works at. It’s not as if Wonwoo was the type to yell ‘I win, I win’ whenever he climaxes, but after multiple nights and endless locations, he can only wonder how he’s fired his three arrows while his boyfriend is still sharpening his bullet point to a tee. If there were a smug expression on the younger’s face whenever he makes the older quickly and successfully come untouched yet again, he would never really know, too blissed out at all their points of heated contact.

Though, in its totality, it was a mere minute detail in what seems like an endless novel of falling in love with Wonwoo, for he could easily bookmark a myriad of his fondest memories in the span of time they’ve spent together. How their cabinets are always stocked up with luosifen even though he knows the other despises the smell. How the younger regularly sends him cat videos or marks off silly online shopping items that he knows will make the older smile. How he can never stay mad at him for long, bad blood a farfetched concept between them, especially when Junhui flashes his genuine, remorseful pout, a session of cuddling and muttered apologies duly scheduled.

But he gently reiterates – his boyfriend’s pride and desire to win is going to be his downfall one day.

And if there’s one person Wonwoo will definitely never admit defeat against, it’s the ever chaotic and passionate tiger _and_ Gemini, Kwon Soonyoung.

“No, there is no way you know Hansol better than I do,” Wonwoo points out, barely batting an eye from where he’s tapping on his Nintendo Switch. “What honestly makes you think that you know the kid more than I do when we work together 40 hours a week?”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, mister. You might have forgotten who’s the older one between us,” Soonyoung retorts, fists balled up and clutching the innocent throw pillows, seemingly seconds away from starting a rumble. Though, from first-hand experience of his friend’s whimsy and upbeat demeanor, the hardest punch he ever dished out was when he accidentally added vodka to the punch bowl in their high school prom.

Beside Junhui, seated with his hands hidden in his hoodie, his boyfriend finally sets away the device to bat a challenging brow. “Older by age or maturity?”

“Both ways, it doesn’t matter!” the dancer nearly screams. “But that’s not the point. The point is I know Hansol more because, before he started living with his boyfriends over here, _I_ was his first roommate on campus.”

Hansol perks up at the referral from where he’s sandwiched between Chan’s and Seungkwan’s legs on the floor, the three youngest of their group twisting their heads back-and-forth as if watching a professional tennis opening with the way the conversation rallies.

“Yeah, about a year ago. A lot can change in a person over the course of a year. Right, Sol-ah?” the younger debater cites the subject of their conversation who merely blinks, mouth partially agape and devoid of appropriate responses. Junhui empathizes with him, also a cautious bystander to the commotion knowing how fixated Wonwoo can get when he’s in that zone, more so in that zone with Soonyoung.

“Whatever, dude,” the older scoffs, “I bet you five thousand won that I can name all of Hansol’s favorite artists faster than you can.”

Junhui winces at the verb he’s learned is the key to his boyfriend’s competitive safety lock. “Did you say ‘bet,’ Hoshi-ya?”

“Yes. I did, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung challenges, standing up and leaving behind a highly disinterested Jihoon who’s rolled his eyes so far back, it’s only a wonder how they’re still on his person. “Five thousand won is on the plate. You gonna double it up?”

The challenge recipient rises to meet the challenger’s height, placing a genial shoulder rub on Junhui’s shoulder as he dusts off his jeans. “Of course not.”

For the briefest moment, the catboy can feel the metaphorical tension leave everyone’s shoulders, perceive the quiet pitter-patter of drizzle outside, see the faintest pinch of relief on Jihoon’s face, the matching fond hair ruffle on Hansol’s messy blonde mop from his boyfriends’ intertwined hands. It’s the simple serenity restored during their tranquil Saturday night.

“Because I’m raising the stakes to fifty thousand won,” Wonwoo plainly states.

And it’s like hearing the cheesy glass shattering SFX on the soundboards Junhui toys around with at Universe Factory, a miniature version of himself swirling into a metaphorical dark vortex. If four summers with Wonwoo has taught him one thing, it’s that he’s an unstoppable force when it comes to conquering wagers, the reason for their occasional lavish date nights or unspeakably expensive dream items somehow making it to their doorstep.

Junhui is aware that his boyfriend’s winning streak against Soonyoung is that of legend and folklore, a campfire story told among competing national representatives and their kin. But a rational part of him is also aware of the fragility of glass award fixtures. To make matters worse, their salary wouldn’t be coming in for the next few weeks and they would be unlikely to pay off any extra dues since he already unwisely spent their fallback money on framed portraits of munchkin kittens.

 _No regrets_ , Junhui surmises with a miniature grin.

Shaking away the adorable image, he taps the younger’s hand to get their attention only for the recipient to mistakenly read the signs, taking the hand in his as a form of encouragement. “What do you say, Hoshi-ya? You scared?” Wonwoo questions at the sight of Soonyoung’s uncharacteristically wide eyes.

“O-of course not,” he stammers, volume as large as his own pride. “In fact, I’m bringing it up to a hundred thousand won!”

That seems to get Jihoon’s attention, the music producer eyeing the human tiger with mild irritation and concern. Close by, Chan opens his own wallet, skimming through his paper bills as if to check if he owned such an amount on hand. When the search comes up empty, Seungkwan consoles the youngest with a surprising wad of cash originating from the inside of his shirt.

Bewildered as he was, Junhui wasn’t going to ask what else was stored there and what else _could_ be stored there. He supposes that’s why Seungkwan always reminded him of Doraemon, cute physique aside.

“A hundred thousand? That’s pretty tame, don’t you think?” his boyfriend smirks seeing Soonyoung fall into his trap. “Make it two hundred thousand but none of those simple music facts. Everyone’s subscribed to his public Spotify playlists. I want _real_ questions, personal questions. That would help us see who really knows Hansol the best.”

Courageously, the subject of the competition is the first to pipe up. “Hyung, do you really have to-“

“Shh, the grown-ups are talking here,” Soonyoung interrupts, chin perched on his hand. “If you put it that way, make it three hundred thousand! If I win, I’m sharing my cut to purchase the baby turtle Hansol’s always wanted,” he vows.

The pout on the music lover’s face quickly morphs into an excited grin, bright eyes almost twinkling. “Really, hyung?”

“Of course! Anything for my favorite dongsaeng,” he coos, skidding over to pinch Hansol’s cheeks which earns him a pointed glare from Seungkwan.

“Wait, I’m not your favorite dongsaeng?” Chan protests, looking honestly hurt.

Soonyoung’s cheeks begin to redden. “W-well, I’ve known Hansollie the longest so he’s my favorite,” he explains, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. When he sees no difference in the youngest’s expression, he adds, “But you’re the _best_ dongsaeng, Channie!”

The oldest of the thruple scoffs, crossing his arms defensively. “What makes him the best dongsaeng?”

“Please, one dongsaeng at a time!”

“Hey! Stop bribing the kids with your false promises,” Wonwoo cuts in. “This should be a fair game.”

“Why don’t you approach the wager in Jeopardy fashion, hyung?” the youngest suggests. “That way, you can cover more ground with the scope of the questions outside of musical preference. Seungkwan and I can make the questions so that it’s as objective as possible.” Junhui would honestly commend Chan for the creativity, but it suddenly dawns onto him that he was merely enabling their gambling behavior, so the thought quickly dissolves inside an acid vat of realization.

“Wait a minute, how do I know that you won’t rig the questions to favor this sweet talker over here?” his boyfriend questions, always one to level out the playing field.

“Believe me, after recent developments on his biased favorite dongsaeng list, it’s him who should be worried,” Seungkwan points to the human tiger, angrily side-eyeing him and dragging the youngest into their open kitchen.

With the gamemasters put to work, all eyes are back on the duelists, comical thunder erupting in-between their eyes, a tropical storm over the antique coffee table. “Three hundred thousand. Take it or leave it,” Soonyoung asserts, eyes piercing as if performing onstage.

Equally threatening, Wonwoo’s expression is schooled and closed-off. “Three hundred and fifty thousand. I have my eyes on something for our anniversary, so I could use the seed money,” he confidently adds, squeezing Junhui’s hand affectionately. He would smile at the gesture, he really would, but he’s unsure if his conscience can stomach a gift unwillingly paid for by his best friends.

“Hold on. That’s too high for a simple bet!” the tiger protests, hands wavering around every which way, “You don’t even have that amount of money, Jeon Wonwoo!”

“Oh, really? You want to call my bluff?” His boyfriend arches a brow, smirk smug when he witnesses the older bite his lower lip in thought. “I think you’re just afraid of losing, Hoshi-ya. And what would this be? The thousandth victory against you? We haven’t begun yet and you’re already all bothered,” he pokes the flame cunningly.

Soonyoung literally _roars_ up into the ceiling, calling onto his ancestral spirit animals, Junhui theorizes. “There’s no way I’m losing against you this time! Make it three hundred and seventy-five thousand,” he parlays, panting heavily.

“Can you calm down please? They have neighbors in this building,” Jihoon scolds, although he makes no attempt to stop the wagering. “There’s no need to go all Super Saiyan for a contest to see who knows Hansol better.”

“Jihoon’s right. It’s obviously me, so you might as well just hand over the cash now,” Wonwoo scoffs, bringing out a palm and motioning the older to pay up.

“No, it’s me!”

“Uhm, to be honest, I think Jun hyung knows me best,” Hansol answers the boiling question. Junhui can only offer him a rueful smile in reply, exhaling a million tiny apologies through his nose for their behavior.

Let it be known that, on that Saturday night, he was invited over to assist Hansol with his analytical chemistry post-lab while Jihoon was summoned to review Seungkwan’s music theory project. And yet the guests of the guests were the ones brewing trouble in the thruple’s tiny one-bedroom apartment. Their social circle was a bit weird like that.

Slowly but surely, the duelists continue to add imaginary poker chips to the pile and Junhui’s brain whirls in his skull, a complete royal flush.

“Four hundred thousand, Hoshi-ya. Seems appropriate for a grand game made by our young geniuses,” Wonwoo muses, metaphorically tipping his hat off to Chan and Seungkwan, both immersed in writing the juiciest details of Hansol’s life.

“Now, _you_ should stop sucking up to the judges!” Soonyoung dashes over to block the other’s view of the gamemasters. He taps his fingers by his sides, nervousness obvious, but grits his teeth, nonetheless. “Four hundred and twenty-five thousand!”

From the stuffy lover’s seat, Jihoon groans and further crosses his arms. The exasperation radiates from him in cartoonish swiggly lines, eyes sharp and bearing holes into his boyfriend’s back.

“Four hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Five hundred thousand,” the tiger plants down, smiling cockily.

As if the scientific calculator installed in his brain finally caught up to the computations, Junhui sits his boyfriend down before he inputs another addend into the LED screen. “Wonwon, wait,” he whispers hurriedly, “Please stop raising the stakes.”

“What do you mean? I’m only trying to spice things up.”

“So, play for some pepper or something! We don’t have that kind of money,” he reminds him, half-panicked and half-swimming in future debt. “I don’t think we’ve even earned that much in our entire stay on campus. Plus, these are our friends.”

“I know, kitten. I’m not really going to embezzle this money out of them,” Wonwoo reassures with a gentle expression.

He tilts his head almost disbelievingly, the younger’s tricks and methods still a mirage to him even after years of peeling the layers. “You’re not?”

“Of course not. I just need Soonyoung to cave in before I do.”

 _That makes sense_ , he speculates. It wasn’t in his boyfriend’s nature to bring money into the table considering how they were all mostly broke college students, unable to pay rent on time nor contact an electrician to check out whatever the daily ticking noise was somewhere in their apartment. It was, however, ultimately characteristic of him to prod on the tiger’s competitive drive until the miniscule touches became an unbearable itch that he couldn’t ignore.

“Trust me on this, okay? No paper currency will be harmed in the making of this unforgettable memory,” he raises his right hand to his heart, pledging allegiance to the anti-financier in him.

Junhui giggles, unable to resist the gravity of his arms towards the younger’s body, always missing their cuddles. A couple of inches closer and their lips realign, recenter on their orbits, sharing a tender kiss that’s unhurried and PG-13 in consideration of their onlookers. “Just play nice, Wonwon. You know how Soonyoung is when he’s fired up. Don’t thread the needle if you’re not going to sew the tapestry.”

“I promise I’ll be nice,” Wonwoo chuckles, leaving a fluttering peck on the older’s forehead as he ascends back to his full height.

“Took you long enough,” the tiger clamors, also rising to position from where Jihoon was ‘gently’ patting the anger out of his system. “Did Junnie finally convince you to stand down and admit your inevitable defeat?”

“Actually, we were just talking, and I think he made some fair points,” he declares and looks back at him for confirmation. When he gets the nod of approval, he continues, “Which is why I decided to bring the wager all the way up to a million won.”

Junhui’s eyes scream the entirety of his voice’s loss for words. This was _not_ what he had in mind when he told him to take it down a notch. Across from him, he figures Soonyoung and Hansol must feel the same way, their mouths hanging open as wide as donuts and saucers.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the producer interrupts, getting in-between his boyfriend and the challenger. “No more betting money of any kind. I admit, it was fun seeing Soonyoung lose his mind for a couple of seconds,” he reveals, earning a betrayed look from the human tiger. Again, he rolls his eyes. “But that’s just too high an amount for a bet. If your egos simply must continue like this, gamble anything else but money.”

Wonwoo shrugs, indifferent. “If you say so, Jihoon-ah,” he concurs, twisting in place to flash a hidden wink to the other. If Junhui was meant to understand some secret code then and there, he would never really know. Instead, he purses his lips and shares a slice of the confusion pie with Hansol, the younger rocking in his place. “So, what do you suggest we lay out on the table?”

“I don’t know; whatever tickles your fancy or some shit like that,” he suggests. Hollering over the young gamemasters, he ‘kindly’ implores, “Help them figure out what else they can throw into the fire.”

“All of Soonyoung hyung’s signed SHINee albums!” Chan. An immediate veto.

“Wonwoo hyung’s PS5 console.” Seungkwan. Another strong, categorical veto.

“A small pair of spectacles that, when you wear it, you can see how other people would look as a Vulcan.” Hansol. Everyone simply stares with mild concern.

Like a lightbulb clicking on after a questionable spark, Wonwoo claps his hands together with an idea. “I’ve got it. If I win, Junhui and I get unlimited access to Universe Factory for one whole week, all alone and no questions asked.”

He tilts his head, brown fringe crowding his vision. Jihoon’s studio was undeniably the fanciest place out of all their hangout spots and it was everyone’s favorite pipe dream to be allowed entry without fear of losing a limb for misplacing any one of the music producer’s expensive equipment. But, to his knowledge, their shared apartment was already a perfect place for them to spend time together. It’s not like they would have much fun with the equalizers or microphones or soundproof rooms-

 _Oh_.

A deep crimson shade colors Junhui’s cheeks, finally able to recall a certain conversation he had with Wonwoo way back when regarding bucket lists and their sex life, both items with a penchant for exploring new locations.

As if able to sense the reasoning behind the almost mundane request, Jihoon arches a brow. “You’re going to have loud sex in my studio, aren’t you?”

“I said ‘no questions asked.’” Wonwoo’s face is tepid, expressionless, revealing nothing.

Junhui’s ferocious blush that reaches the tip of his tingling ears reveals _everything_.

“Fine, whatever,” the producer concedes, eyes in a wash cycle. “Soon, baby, you make your offer now before I get an aneurysm. And you better make it good if these two are going to mess up my studio and leave it smelling like sweat and cumshots.”

“Jihoonie!” the catboy yelps, covering his face with his palms. How he wishes he could truthfully deny the allegation. How he also wishes he could bottle up that scent and spray it all over himself during his off days at home because he adores that scent, doubled only by the fact that it comes from Wonwoo, notes of citrusy bergamot and earthy cedarwood permeating him.

“Let me think,” Soonyoung conspires, rubbing his chin along with Jihoon’s for good measure. “It’s not like Hoonie and I need a new place to smash, so a place rental is not an option. And we always have the same takeout every night, which takes a free dinner out of the equation. Then our apartment already has all the furniture we would ever need…”

“Can you make up your mind already? The questions will arrive faster than your train of thought,” Seungkwan complains.

“Hey, it’s not as easy as you think!”

Wonwoo scoffs, “You’re just stalling again, Hoshi-ya. Don’t think I don’t know your tactics by now.”

“Hyung, just go with the first thing that pops up in your head,” the youngest recommends. “It can be as weird or otherworldly as you imagine it to be. It also doesn’t have to make sense because it’s not like you’re going to win anyways,” he cheerily supplies, legs dangling on his seat and focus back on his question cards.

Soonyoung pouts and situates his hands by his waist, peering down south before exploding with energy. “I’ve got it!” Electricity surges out as thunder when he points at harmless and puzzled Junhui, the zapped one fearing for his life. “If I win, Junnie has to wear girl undies for one week!”

Everyone reacts differently to a disaster, a fact he discovers at the exact moment the final syllable leaves Soonyoung’s tongue.

Hansol is simply Hansol, his mouth animatedly large and hands muffling his ears as if to silence a banshee’s piercing wail. The human personification of ‘The Scream’ gawks at the challenger bursting at the seams with excitement, bouncing from left to right.

Chan bows down and clears his throat, quietly making a beeline towards the bathroom to wash the animosity away with a stinging mouth rinse. Or to slip himself a melatonin pill and fall asleep to pretend like the whole evening never happened; who really knows?

Seungkwan does a literal spit take, pounding on his chest while gasping for air, the debris luckily landing perfectly on their potted plant by the corner.

Soonyoung is clearly delighted, giddy at the horrified consensus of his proposition. His hysterical laughter is the sonic equivalent of jellybeans glazed with cream cheese frosting, a frightening bout of sugar rush being the only sensible reason for his gamble.

Jihoon groans and throws his head back on the couch, already mulling over the repercussions of his boyfriend’s next set of moves. Despite his exasperated demeanor, the producer must possess an astronomically large patience gauge to not have conspired his boyfriend’s execution after seven years of being together. Well, to everyone’s knowledge, that is.

The insects and mammals hidden in the apartment crawl back into their teeny tiny holes or reenter their cocoon, unwilling to move on with their lives and preferring to remain in their dormant state, stowed away and protected from the cruelty of the corporeal world.

Junhui… well, he might as well have phased out into the spiritual plane because his body remains petrified in its position, eyes unblinking and still processing the noise that entered his ear canal which sounded awfully like ‘wear girl undies.’ He doesn’t want to rush to conclusions here given his penchant for zoning out at key moments. Instead, he holds onto the sliver of hope that the human tiger actually said something along the lines of ‘bear fur buddies’ or ‘air drill studies’ or other not-so nursery rhymes.

And Wonwoo, at the highest contrast with the majority, appears unbothered, apathetic almost, with the peculiar request. It does nothing to settle the tremble in the older boyfriend’s heart, the organ in question stopping in its tracks when the gamer finally reacts with a clear-cut “Deal.”

“What?!” Jihoon bellows as Seungkwan performs an encore of his waterworks show. Hansol persists as Hansol, a similar epic reaction plastered on his astonished face. Chan, on the other hand, is most probably long gone, having popped off the bathroom window to sneak out into the night.

“What?” the catboy’s boyfriend inquires, a tinkling of chagrin in his voice. “I proposed my idea and you agreed. Now, Soonyoung proposed his idea and I agreed. Isn’t this how bets usually go?”

“It sure is! You’ve got yourself a deal, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung marches over to seal the deal with a handshake, pleasure dripping out of him by the bucketloads.

At the edge of anguish, Junhui takes the younger’s hand and saunters off to the corner, out of earshot. “Wonwon, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why did you accept the bet?”

Wonwoo’s smile softens and Junhui would swoon if not for the gravity of the situation keeping his knees firmly buckled. “Because I’m not going to lose against Soonyoung. You already know how great our odds are. Weren’t you also the one who suggested we go somewhere public to mix things up?”

“I-I did,” he assents, blushing, “but do you remember the last time you said the same thing about ‘your odds’ to me? You had to down that entire cup of soy sauce while Soonyoung got the glass of Cola.” They both shudder at the reminder.

“Yes, I am very much aware of the time. But, kitten, that was a mere drop of water in my ocean of victory. My win rate is about 99%,” the younger mentions. “And this is Hansol we’re talking about. We spend most of our weekends together and we know him like the back of our hands. It would take a literal landslide for Hoshi to beat me this time.”

Junhui nods, though still unsettled. “I know, Wonwon, but isn’t it weird to wear women’s underwear?”

“Would that really be the worst thing?” he mutters under his warm breath, brushing away the stray locks blocking one of his boyfriend’s eyes. On the surface, Wonwoo’s eyes dilate by the tiniest of fractions, a dark undertone encapsulating the usually light brown irises. The catboy can feel his heartbeat accelerate beyond his own accord.

“What d-do you mean-“

“If I may,” Soonyoung interrupts, leaning into their peripheral vision. “You know, lingerie is not as bad as everyone makes it out to be.”

“H-how would you know?” Junhui squeaks.

“Well, for starters, the internet says they’re a lot softer and more comfortable than men’s underwear. Plus, I’m wearing some right now! Do you want to see?” Before anyone can process his last sentence, he casually begins to undo the tie of his sweats, unperturbed at everyone’s increasingly weary expression. A glimmer of rose-pink lace catches the fluorescent light and Jihoon is set into motion, the fastest anyone’s ever seen him with his aptitude for lethargy, hoisting his boyfriend’s pants all the way up to his waist.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” the producer scolds as he redoes the tie.

Soonyoung guffaws into his boyfriend’s shoulder, eyes creased into flat lines yet brimming with elation. “Right, right, for your eyes only,” he winks, giggling some more. “Hoonie doesn’t like it when I show other people the lingerie that he makes me wear all the time.”

“Why did you have to tell them that?” Jihoon groans, cheeks blooming a deep crimson. “No one asked you for that information, Soon!”

“Yeah, _no one_ ,” Seungkwan emphasizes from where he’s now covering both of Hansol’s pure and naïve eyes.

When the human tiger shrugs, the producer corrals him back to the couch and ensures all external garments are locked into their respective places. “All I’m saying is that it’s not as bad as you think it is, Moon Junnie!”

“What do you say, kitten?” Wonwoo gently seeks, tipping the older’s chins for their gazes to align. Junhui’s face is still marred at the sight of his best friend’s lace panties and the apparent fact that he wears them _all the time_ , but a delicate thumb rub on his cheek is all it takes for his focus to recenter on the younger. “I can talk Hoshi out of it and switch the stakes, if you’d like.”

“N-no!” The words escape his lips like a knee-jerk reaction. “Keep the ante as it is.”

“Are you sure?” When Junhui nods, the gamer smiles warmly, akin to the bright summer sun they strolled under when they first became each other’s boyfriends. “What made you change your mind?”

He nibbles on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact at all cost. Human nature would be his greatest impetus, the catboy believes. Coupled with his innate eagerness as a chemistry major, Junhui couldn’t resist the urge to experience something that seemed so foreign to him mere seconds ago.

Curiosity would also be his driving force to dig further into why Wonwoo’s nails dig into his tan skin a little deeper, mild red marks on his wrist. Why his boyfriend’s pulse is racing even though they spent the entire evening seated down and away from any form of physical exercise. Why the other has _that_ look on his face, the one they telepathically communicate whenever they’re in public and there’s a sudden situation they have to handle inside their pants, muttering grateful farewells to the host so that they can go home and find closure inside one another’s deepest, darkest, and most pleasurable enclosures.

But he won’t ask because – again – bottom of the barrel, second-to-none, horrible intuition.

“Because,” Junhui begins, barely managing to reconnect their lines of sight to get his point across, “I want to play along for once.” His voice descends to a whisper, licking his lips in a way that he knows Wonwoo can’t resist. “Plus, it doesn’t sound so bad to finally cross off another box in our bucket list.”

As expected, the younger bears his teeth, taking a deep breath to curb his temptation. “Alright, if that’s what you really want, kitten. I’ll do my best for you.” Knightly and cordial, he takes a formal bow, eliciting a fit of giggles from his boyfriend.

“I entrust my kingdom to you, Sir Wonwoo the Great.” Seungkwan and Chan reconvene at the center of their apartment, hands filled with their most gripping Hansol question cards. Soonyoung dashes towards them, tailed by a reluctant Jihoon. “I know you’ll do great but… just make sure you win, okay?”

“Your wish is my command, your highness,” he vows, placing affectionate kisses on the older’s wrist and the swell of his cheeks. “The odds are stacked in our favor, so what could go wrong, right? I promise you, kitten. We’re going to be drinking nothing but sweet, cold Cola from here on out.”

Which is exactly how they ended up in the woman’s section of the department store the following day.

By all means, their local mall is as original salted flavor as it gets, endless rows of clothing racks, overly white and gray accents on every piece of furniture, and excessively perky salespeople all calling for their attention to look at their latest selection of belts and bags when Junhui honestly just wants to become one with the tiles or turn invisible. He’s wearing his largest hoodie, the cap covering the entirety of his head as he keeps it bowed so low, it might just fall off his neck. Wonwoo, equipped with his deep bucket hat and black as night face mask, paces ahead of him to lead the way, the catboy’s hand latching on to the younger’s jean jacket as they march closer and closer to their demise.

Their aim was to be inconspicuous, blend into plain sight, but considering their height and dark ensemble contrasting against the pristine shine of their surroundings, they stick out like a sore thumb. To make matters worse, considering their own class and work schedules, the only free time they had to visit the department store was when it opened. This equated to them being two of the few early birds in the store, the _only_ customers in the woman’s section so far. Junhui could physically feel all the eyes trained at the two tall men coursing through the aisles, respectfully declining every free perfume or make-up sample and earning muffled whispers as they near the ‘Underwear’ sign next to the counter.

Should some celestial being decide on the perfect time to claim their annual human sacrifice to appease their bloodthirsty rampage on lowly mortals, now would be the ripest moment to claim the stray catboy wandering down aisle 17, all his life essence evaporating faster than the transient Dolce & Gabbana that fills the air.

If anyone was keeping count, by the way, the gamer’s win rate against Soonyoung was down to 98.5%.

Beyond all odds, Wonwoo lost the game of Who Knows Hansol More. No one expected Chan’s challenging lightning round nor did they anticipate having to enumerate the random anecdotes Hansol whispers in his sleep. Because who would know such a thing? The kid’s present and former roommates, that’s who. A character attribute both Wonwoo and Junhui were clearly lacking.

Where Soonyoung was hopping from wall to wall, Wonwoo was livid, calling the competition a hoax with undue bias. Chan, never one to turn down a fight, politely told him to go to a special place inside himself while Seungkwan gestured for them to collect the hyper Gemini and leave their apartment before campus security came to do it themselves.

On the walk home, the younger continued to list down how they should have won because of the ludicrousness of the situation and for the mere fact that they ‘didn’t destroy the coffee table when they misspelled Hansol’s favorite post-exam week snack’ (Soonyoung is likely somewhere in the furniture section that same morning). However, the anger quickly melted into remorse when he saw Junhui’s face of future embarrassment.

“Here, what do you think of these ones?” the younger meekly offers, referring to the plain cotton underwear piled high. Away from the prying eyes of nearby onlookers, they settled on the selection at the farthest corner of the section. He subtly picks out a piece and presents it, commenting, “These ones don’t look too different from briefs.”

Junhui carefully lifts his gaze only to whimper, quickly staring back at his sneakers squeaking with his shifting feet. The milder pastel colors and outlines of French lace is a total contradiction to the darker, more monotone boxer briefs that he usually wears. The apple-red blush of his cheeks and his current underwear share more in common than the selection in front of him.

After returning the piece and scanning through the heap once more, Wonwoo sighs and cups the older’s cheeks so that they see eye-to-eye for the first time since they entered the department store. “Kitten, we don’t have to do this, you know. It was my fumble that got us here, so I should be the one to pay the price. I can talk Soonyoung out of it and figure out an alternative.”

“N-no, it’s alright,” he pouts, glancing at the pile of lady’s undergarments. “We lost the bet, so we have to play by the rules.”

“We don’t have to. It’s just a silly game.”

“But we do, Wonwon,” the older retorts. “If Soonyoung had lost the game and they asked for a reconsideration, you wouldn’t have given it to them, right?” When Wonwoo looks away, devoid of a response, he continues. “So, we have to be good sports and accept the punishment. I’m in this as much as you are. This is _our_ cup of soy sauce.” He reaches for the other’s pinky through his sweater paws, hoping to impart a twinkling of comfort.

As feedback, he’s greeted by the younger’s kind but apologetic eyes. “Ours,” he echoes, sighing again. “I just feel bad that you have to be the one to bear the brunt of my mistakes.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were fighting for something we both wanted anyways,” he smiles a hidden smile. “Plus, we’ve only checked out the surface. I’m sure there are more suitable ones for me out there.”

That seems to garner Wonwoo’s attention, determination seeping through his face mask. “Alright, kitten. Let’s try to find you something more fitting.”

Weaving a path through each kiosk, pointedly avoiding salespeople and their incessant need to know their sizes or design preferences, they examine the pieces as camouflaged as a neon marquee on a black canvas. Junhui takes several moments to comprehend the variety and diversity of female undergarments from where he was accustomed to the exceedingly regular designs available in the men’s section. He tries his best not to duck down, but the idea of wearing them feels strangely taboo, like a forbidden act. A bout of excitement wells inside of him at the thought.

In the end, they settle with Wonwoo’s suggestion of plain white cotton panties that look similar enough to briefs, the short to non-existent garter being the sole difference. He tries to mask the disappointment he’s suddenly made aware of by giggling and mentioning that it’s just been years since he’s last wore a pair of skimpy briefs.

On the way to the checkout counter, however, a glint catches his attention. “Wonwon, wait!”

Wonwoo spins on his heels, bearing the cotton burden in his hands, to catch the older staring down into a shinier display of scarlets and deep blacks. “What is it?”

“Look at these ones,” he mutters when the younger is by his side.

Presented in front of him was a ravishing array of delicate lace and mesh, different colors seemingly to fit varying moods or occasions. One piece appeared to fit the entire gluteus and resembled the briefs he was more familiar with while another piece was rounder at the back with an ornamental outline slanting towards the center, diminishing the amount of material it used up. One piece even had nothing but a skinny cord to hold everything in place, a piece of fabric on the crotch as the only signifier of where the item was meant to be worn. Junhui doesn’t know the names of these products beyond its umbrella term, but a slice of his curious pie wants him to be able to enumerate them by memory.

Scanning the vicinity and certain of their lone conditions, Junhui selects a glittering piece of red fabric, running his fingers along the material. “It’s so soft,” he notes down, blinking furiously. Faintly, he whispers, “I wonder what it would feel like on my skin…”

A hand rounds his waist and holds him closer. “Are you considering buying a pair of these?” The younger takes another piece from the display and a heavy aura befalls them. “But there’s like- have you seen how small this is? It barely covers anything.”

“I think that’s the point, Wonwon,” he giggles, stretching out the material to gauge its coverage. The underwear forms a distinct T-shape, curves towards its arms further reducing its surface area. Just as his boyfriend mentioned, a quarter sheet of paper has greater shielding potential than the panties, emphasized with how the posterior area is barren of any definitive fabric, dainty floral designs encircling the smallest amount of space possible.

Turned away from him, Junhui can’t fully read Wonwoo’s perception on the pieces, but the two of them share a closed-curtains affirmative code between them and its absence is a tell-tale sign. “I don’t know about this, kitten…” he sighs, affectionately rubbing the side of the older. “I’m not sure I would be too comfortable with anyone else seeing you wear what appears to be nothingness made into apparel.”

“Soonie and the others don’t even need to know that I have it,” he argues, purposely shrinking his lips. “If they need proof that we kept our end of the wager, we’ll just show them the simpler ones. That way, this will be like our dirty little secret!”

The younger snickers inside his mask, eyes curved in a way Junhui knows that he’s smiling. “I thought you didn’t feel comfortable wearing girl undies. All of a sudden, we’re actually considering buying a pair of legitimate, grown-up lingerie.” He turns away another salesperson, probably double checking to see if the dubiously dressed men were shoplifting or were on a prolific panty raid. “What made you change your mind?”

He tilts his head onto the crook of his boyfriend’s shoulder, sculpted and muscular and made to fit him, and him alone. “It _is_ still kind of weird, if I were being completely honest,” he confesses, breathing slower now than when they had first entered. “But I guess a part of me is just curious about these sorts of things. And it could be our something new this month!”

“I thought we reserve our ‘something new’ for unfamiliar cuisines in restaurants off-campus and open mic nights at different cafés?”

“But that’s our usual ‘something new,’ Wonwon! So, if you think about it,” he adjusts his positions, facing the other but remaining in the one-armed embrace, “the routineness of it all makes it _not new_. That would make the custom pointless, ergo-“

Wonwoo sighs anew but unsuccessfully stifles a laugh. “Alright, alright, I get your point, kitten. Let’s just get a pair of these to appease your fascination.” After the older chooses a net of black lace, the younger adds it to their growing stockpile of abashment. “I just need to know that you’re really okay with these sorts of things before we buy it. Because you might like it now, but you might not feel too hot about it when we get back home,” he ascertains as they pass a collection of questionable reading glasses.

“I _am_ okay with it,” he reassures with a hop to his step, an unexplainable excitement flooding his circulation. “If you think about it, it might also pass off as cosplaying if we tweak the concept a little bit.”

“So, should we get you an entire costume while we’re still here in the women’s section?” the younger proposes and lifts a suggestive brow, gesturing to the selection of crop tops and skirts in their surroundings.

Junhui flushes all the way through, cheeks as ripe as a tomato. He settles for clinging onto Wonwoo’s jean jacket as he hides behind his hunches, his boyfriend chuckling up until the checkout lane. That’s when they’re both silenced by the ahjumma making innocent small talk, asking them who they’re buying those items for. And, for all the younger’s vast vocabulary and careful phrasing, his voice cracks when he replies with a tiny ‘Yes.’

They leave exactly the same way they entered, the older clinging on to his boyfriend for purchase and the other carrying their less than appropriate purchase. The pair take the dreaded walk of shame through the department store, drowning out the salespeople’s muffled whispers and the tiny flame at the pits of their bellies, a warmth from where there was once inquiry.

The gauge on his screen glows a loud green as the videos finish uploading and Wonwoo can feel his eyes roll before he even wishes them to. It’s another shot of the entourage’s feet as they enter the chapel. He groans as he scrolls through the event’s folder, scanning the fifteen other similar shots with disdain.

Just then, the decorated videographer passes his peripheral vision. “Hey, Mingyu. Come here.”

“What is it, hyung?” he responds, though his attention is still trained towards his Nikon camera pointed to whichever way.

“What is this?” he asks, exasperated, turning his laptop in its place. “You keep sending me these filler videos. I have yet to see one with the bride and groom.”

Mingyu peels his eyes away from the screen to offer three seconds of recognition, his usual maximum capacity when his hands are off his device. “What do you mean? I took plenty of them earlier,” he contests, claiming the mouse and seeking certain files. “See? There’s the happy couple right there!”

If his face wasn’t portraying all his exhaustion, the one-track you’re-dead-to-me gaze he adds in should fit the bill. “That’s the back of their heads, you imbecile,” he hisses minutely, careful not to disturb the organized chaos happening all around them. “That’s not the kind of memories they want immortalized on their wedding day.”

“Trust me, hyung. This is what looks nice nowadays,” the puppy smiles, canines peeking out almost tauntingly. Over by the front aisle, Seungcheol beckons for the videographer. “I gotta run,” he announces, backpedaling towards the voice and his focus back on adjusting the settings on his camera. “They’re starting the family pictorial.”

“Hey! Come back here,” he rises in place, reaching for the other but all too lately. “You better give me actual faces this time, Kim Mingyu! I don’t want to see another one of their dress shoes on my laptop in the next upload.”

“You got it, hyung!” the younger tosses back, an absentminded thumbs up thrown his way. In no time, he’s at his destination, bending down to capture their footwear yet again and the older has half the willpower to march over there and thump him on the head.

Wonwoo sinks back on his seat, scratching the back of his neck while he reviews the material he’s been handed. Logistically, he has about thirty minutes of videos for use. Realistically, however, he can filter out a decent thirty seconds to create a same day edit he could be proud of. He groans while running a hand through his hair. It’s just one of those days where he has to convince himself repeatedly that he loves his job beyond the salary that pays for rent and extra occasional luxuries for Junhui and him.

There’s a fine line he treads between video editing, a skill he practically enjoys, and showing up to formal events on a weekly basis, an activity he wholeheartedly despises. To his job’s credit, the human interaction is minimal to nonexistent, but there’s a finite limit to his comfort whenever he knows he has eyes originating from somewhere behind him directed at his work, whatever bystander imagines themself to be in the Twilight Zone as they breathe down on his neck and ramble some incomprehensible comment.

Just when he thought that working with Mingyu and his perpetual differing opinion was difficult, it’s the event coordinators and their incessant probe on the ETA of his edits that truly push his buttons. For sanity’s sake, he’ll pretend that an increase in the frequency of their follow-ups will speed up his laptop’s capacity to render videos to hamper the need to throw the machine straight into their annoying mug.

 _Calming breaths_ , he constantly emphasizes. The stress in his part-time gig as the official editor in his group’s videography service is never long lived, never beyond a workday at the most. Outweighing the negatives in a job he admonishes on a daily basis is the genuine smile or tears of joy on the customers’ faces when they witness their cherished moments memorialized into pixels for them to revisit to their heart’s desire. It’s during those moments that he breathes easier, releasing the pent-up tension on his shoulders, and pats himself on the back with the knowledge that he caused that irreplaceable brand of happiness.

That’s also the time of the night that Seungcheol promptly receives their rightful payment, but he tries not to let the greed overshadow his stained glass.

Editing also gives him reprieve from his weeks’ several hairpullers, some mechanical computer processing system ingrained in his brain encouraging his fingers to input the transitions and scroll through Hansol’s choice picks for appropriate background music without mental strain. Thoughts come out like word vomit when he’s half-distracted from the task at hand and the time he spends on his job is also the time he spends in retrospection. The mind works in mysterious ways, he believes.

Wonwoo’s recent week was an absolute doozy. Aside from his usually stressful comparative literature course, he had to tolerate Soonyoung’s unrelenting barrage of remarks on his single victory after years of defeat. He tries not to take it too personally, the comments more than bearable by usual standards, but the tiger’s round-the-clock nagging on him to prove their compliance to their end of the bargain kept him on his toes all week.

True to Junhui’s pure and honest heart, he wore the punishment and powered through his endless blush to present the cotton panties to his meddlesome friends from Monday to Saturday. Soonyoung wolf-whistled and welcomed him to ‘The Club,’ whatever that was. Jeonghan rubbed the older’s shoulder soothingly and gave a lecture on how to match the types of lingerie with everyday clothing to maximize his sex appeal, a lesson that haunts the catboy to this day. And Seungcheol set Wonwoo aside to give a repeat performance of The Shovel Talk from years before, this time with extended verses of Treat a Man Right (Explicit Ver.) and The Body is a Scared Temple (Reprise).

It took every grain of sand in his patient hourglass to spare his friends from his fists whenever they asked Junhui to show them his panties again in every single location _but_ in private – in the cafeteria, in their shared classes, out in the quad full of actual human beings with _eyes_. The older was much too naïve and the complete embodiment of the innocent archetype to ever refuse them, which led to Wonwoo taking the initiative to cover him up with his jacket the moment he sees his boyfriend begin to tug on his skinny jeans.

But every farce luckily has its conclusion, and, as the seven-day duration ran out, he was more than delighted to hide the cursed garbs in a place he would never have to willingly see them again. Wonwoo initially wanted to burn them to erase the evidence, but he didn’t want to risk another call from their dorm manager about the fire alarm going off in the middle of the night. This time, they wouldn’t have the veil of baking cupcakes to conceal their intrepid promiscuity.

Like Nostradamus but for sensual attires, he foresaw the older’s apprehension with the piece of lingerie they purchased. He bore witness to hours of Junhui pacing back and forth in their bedroom, persuading himself to try the fabrics only to decide against it. Over, and over, and over again. Adorable as his boyfriend was indecisive, a feeling of disenchantment curved his lips downwards when he saw the older tuck away the black lace without ever trying it. He’d blame it on the price, but he knows that’s never the case since he’s always more than willing to splurge for his boyfriend’s whims.

Something in his imagination hindered him from putting the case to rest. Overactive and playful, his mind wandered to distinct imagery of Junhui in nothing but the piece of lingerie to adorn his flawlessly tan skin, smooth and sleek despite the hours he spends dancing. The absence of material on areas where there are usually plentiful, revealing assets worthy of the highest security and the flashiest of spotlights. Slender digits exploring the expanse, applying the right amount of pressure to make him whimper and moan, a delicious symphony. A strained plane of prominent abs and the dandy floral netting, a garden for Wonwoo to uncover and plant his trusty shovel.

There’s a stark contrast that exists between his imagination and the reality of Junhui wearing his curiosity, and he regrets biting his tongue when he watched the older snuff out his inquisitive candle, setting away the lingerie alongside the other pieces for stashing.

He shakes off the train of thought just as a new set of videos finish uploading, the annoying green light reminding him of his responsibilities. Now was not the time to slack off on the job. Nor was it the time to pop a boner on holy ground. He isn’t religious, but he claps his hands together for a second and sends up a silent apology to Korean Jesus. _Thou shall not commit lewd acts inside thy head_ or something like that.

Wonwoo stretches his fingers after he presses the Render button. He’s ahead of schedule for once, lucky that the newlyweds opted for a simpler reception program. He’ll never say it out loud, but Mingyu’s indie concept for the video panned out better than he expected amid the game of footsies in his video dump folder. Over at their assigned table at the back, Seungcheol waves him over for their allotted round of leftovers. The editor declines with a gentle hand, motioning at his laptop requiring his constant monitoring.

The Winter Wonderland decorations looping from corner to corner was as played out as the Spring Fair theme that he usually sees during weddings, but he knows his boyfriend has a penchant for animal figurines and hanging snowflakes, so he warms up to the concept a little. He whips out his phone to photograph the charming, frosted kittens on the plate settings, then notices some message notifications from not too long ago.

Junhui’s nickname comes through when he enlarges the tab, and his smile is instantaneous. The delightful messages of encouragement he receives are always a tender, soothing balm on his tense muscles whenever he works, so he unabashedly opens the messaging app without a second thought.

Which is exactly when his blood runs colder than the fake snowy mountain range on stage.

**Kitten Junnie**

How does this look, Wonwon?

 _Kitten Junnie sent a picture_.

Here’s another angle!

 _Kitten Junnie sent a picture_.

I also took one from behind!

 _Kitten Junnie sent a picture_.

Do you think I should get it in a smaller size?

I like this pair, but I think it might look even better in red

What do you think?

Wonwoo stares agape at his cellphone, heart racing in its chest and a Boys Scout tent erecting inside his jeans. Because there it was, the black lace he couldn’t stop imagining now materializing and wrapping itself snugly on his boyfriend’s exquisite crotch in not only one frame of passionate wonder, but _three_.

If there wasn’t an entry for ‘Experience cardiac arrhythmias during a wedding reception’ in their shared bucket list, he’s mentally writing it down then checking off the box in a zip.

He redirects his heat back to his frozen fingers but, because he’s Wonwoo, he unceremoniously drops his phone and kicks it away to a nearby dining table as he attempts to pick it up.

 _Fuck_ , _fuck_ , _fuck_. Before anyone can bat an eye on the fallen device, he dives towards it and shuts off the LED screen. As a result of the ruckus, some relative of the bride screams at the top of her lungs, the frequency nearly sufficient to break all the glass in their vicinity.

With all eyes on him, Mingyu and Hansol awkwardly grimacing for him, the silence of the hall descends upon him and litters his skin with goosebumps. Wonwoo smiles sheepishly and says, “I saw a spider.” He bows apologetically and runs back to his station, melting into a puddle behind his laptop. Upon inspection of his phone, the only damage done was to his dignity. He takes a slow breather and addresses the problem at hand.

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Kitten? What are these?

**Kitten Junnie**

Hi, Wonwon!

How’s your work event coming along?

I was thinking we could go out for spicy hotpot after that!

We ran out of kimchi for kimchi fried rice

So, maybe we can buy some while we’re outside

Detergent too!!!

But that’s not for the fried rice

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Everything is absolutely peachy.

But you didn’t answer the question, Junnie.

What are those pictures?

**Kitten Junnie**

They’re pictures of me!

In the lingerie we bought!

Did they not load?

**Jeon Wonwoo**

I’m aware.

And they loaded just fine. Maybe a little too fine.

**Kitten Junnie**

Sooooooooo

What are your thoughts, Wonwon?

**Jeon Wonwoo**

What made you try it on? I thought you couldn’t find the courage to do it the last time.

**Kitten Junnie**

Well, that was the Junnie from a past life!

I’m a changed man, Jeon Wonwoo

Like that a butterfly out of its cocoon and ‘no man ever steps in the same river twice’ sorta thing

You see, Soonie came over earlier for that bubble tea I told you about

You know, the lychee one with the pearls in the bottom?

Which reminds me

We should hit the local market sometime soon for fresh mangoes

I think they’re in season

Right?

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Junnie, your point.

**Kitten Junnie**

Right!

Anyways, Soonie came over to ask how I was after the whole shebang

He even apologized for making me try on the panties and whatnot

Can you believe it?

Okay, before I get lost again

I told him it was fine and that it was actually not as bad as I first imagined it

Then he asked me if I considered real lingerie

To which I said that I did but I just didn’t have the courage to put them on

And then he gave me this strange pep talk like the ones he gives us before all our dance competitions

But for panties LOL it was so weird but Soonie is so funny

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Junnie.

**Kitten Junnie**

Yes, the ever-important point!

Long story short, he helped me try on the black lace and it felt pretty nice on my skin

Which is why I sent you a picture!

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Are you telling me that Soonyoung saw you wearing that?

**Kitten Junnie**

Of course not, Wonwon!

No need to get your knickers in a twist!

Hehe get it? Hehe

He only helped me motivationally

I tried them on as soon as he left and that’s when you replied

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Why did you send them to me now? You know I’m at work.

People could have seen it, kitten.

**Kitten Junnie**

Oh, I’m sorry!!!

I didn’t think too far

I just sent the texts like I usually do

Plus, you don’t usually reply during work hours

So, I thought it was safe!!!

**Jeon Wonwoo**

You have to be more careful when you send those things, kitten.

You can’t send me stuff like that and always expect things to be okay on my end.

**Kitten Junnie**

Oh.

Do you not like it?

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Junnie, that’s not my point.

You look ravishing, alright?

Please don’t get me wrong on that. I just want you to be safe.

Let’s talk more about this later when I get home, okay?

**Kitten Junnie**

Okay, Wonwon…

I’ll just be at home, I guess…

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Kitten?

A strange snake constricts his heartstrings, an off-kilter feeling bubbling in his stomach. An urge pushes him to run off to clear the air with his boyfriend, but, as it stands, the video is still only at 30% of its total rendering time and they’re contractually obligated to remain on-site until the event ends. Add to that is the blood leaving his normally pale face, warmth congregating in his own snake that prevents him from standing in place, said snake doing all the standing for him.

Warily, he scans his area. Empty. With one last cautionary glance, he scrolls to the top of their conversation and he represses the bite in his growl. _Dreams do come true_ , he thinks. Imagination incarnate, the pictures stare down harder at him than he to it, his own hardness becoming a problem he can barely contain. Junhui knows how to take a beautiful selca, that’s a fact he’s known since they first met eyes. But Wonwoo didn’t realize how skilled the older was at taking _naughty_ selcas.

Every angle is perfection, a display of his boyfriend’s own person. Toned abs that encapsulate his slender physique and curves in all the right places, protruding and emphasized. His mouth waters at the sight of the older’s cock peeking out of the lace, throbbing red against a tan shadow. The material teases him and his expectations, the remainder of the sword hidden inside the flimsiest sheath. The sender’s identity is no mystery to him, but there’s a raging furor in his mind in the way Junhui hides every inch of his face _but_ his piercing gaze with his phone, eyes that know how to get him, ones he wants to turn putty with a single touch.

There’s filth in the way his boyfriend bends over in the slightest to flaunt his round bottom, the most minute of changes ample and adequate to scramble Wonwoo’s brain into disarray. With the way the floral net tightly hugs the skin he massages with his palms, the muscles he normally kneads to thoroughly slide his wood into the sharpener. His breathing is a collection of faulty bolts and screws, nowhere near functional.

Needless to say, when Seungcheol and Mingyu march over to the videographers’ station, he rejects the free meal and makes it a point to remain behind them during the entirety of the couple’s thank you speeches. Frustratingly, his dick refuses to cooperate with the fluff of the occasion, a mind of its own with ideas of expansion.

Unable to resist its gravity, he ensures no prying eyes peer into his phone as he takes one, two, three hundred glimpses at the raunch in his treasure chest, fanning the wildfire in his body. Junhui is unresponsive to his follow-up texts and a bottle of worry crashes into his ocean. The younger has never wanted to get home faster since that night his boyfriend wore leather pants to his university’s dance meet.

By some infinite mercy, the event winds down and their group receives their promised payment. Wonwoo sticks his laptop into his trusted messenger bag and keeps it in front of his person like a lifeline, the hill he plans to die on unyielding and unmovable even after an hour had passed. He bids farewell to Seungcheol first on the train, then Mingyu second by the campus bookstore, and Hansol last on the second floor of their dormitory.

He fumbles with his key on the lock, embarrassingly slotting it in incorrectly twice, a flash drive gone wrong. Once inside, he immediately sees Junhui with his knees close to his chest, phone held horizontally as it always is, and wearing his gray sweats and an oversized sweater, items Wonwoo deems highly unnecessary. His attention flies to an area he wants to excavate, uncover, and unravel, claws ready to rip off anything that stands in his way.

“Oh, Wonwoo, I didn’t hear you come in,” the older addresses cutely, lips rounded and oh-so kissable. “Did you just get back?” From where he stands, the younger can note the smile that’s not entirely there, eyes downcast, and he wants to change everything about that uncertainty.

Wonwoo drops his bag in their tiny foyer and grabs the older’s hand, dragging their bodies to the bedroom. Junhui sports this worried look on his face and he would coo at the cuteness if he wasn’t seconds away from meltdown.

“I know you’re tired, but I really think it would be best if we got something to eat first,” he broaches as the younger approaches their destination. Inside the room, with the other’s back turned to him, Wonwoo slips the door shut slowly. Carefree, his boyfriend examines the content of his phone, stating, “I just double checked and the Chinese restaurant next to Jisoo hyung’s dorm is still open. So, if we move quickly-“

Junhui squeaks when their lips align, but like with all things, their movements come out naturally. How the older quickly sags onto his body, soft moans tumbling out to meet every pulse. How their hands know their designated spots, Wonwoo’s grazing the dancer’s sides, tender and poignant, the other’s looping around the broad neck. How their height permits their heartbeats to coincide, both bodies finding purchase in their shared scents, tied together in a beautiful bouquet.

“Wonwon,” the older exhales, noses fluttering against each other. He loops a leg around the younger’s thigh and gasps, the meat hidden behind layers silky in their contact. “I’m just- I need…”

“I got you, kitten,” Wonwoo whispers to the shell of his ear, sending a tepid peck that has the body adjacent to his shivering with anticipation. A hand ventures to support the leg on him, his fingers curling knowingly, salaciously. He kisses him a second time, deeper on the flyback, hungry for the lips on his, for the wanton noises that go unopposed.

It takes three seconds for them to fall back onto their mattress, three seconds for Junhui to leave his legs spread open like a landing strip, three seconds for Wonwoo to nosedive into the spot made for him, undressing the older from his campus sweater (it’s technically Wonwoo’s but he’ll pretend like his boyfriend’s velvety aroma doesn’t drive him wild and is the reason why he never pipes up on the thievery).

“God, you’re so beautiful. I can’t get enough of you,” he mumbles to the reddening marks in his vision. He traces a mental path and explores it, sucking on the supple skin on the older’s neck trembling in his hold, the immense, almost endless shoulders, the pebbled and bulging nubs. His mouth laves on one side, fingers toying around with the other. Junhui’s hand flies up to the younger’s head, coercing the motions further, and he’s never been one to deny his boyfriend’s muted requests. “If I didn’t make it clear enough yet,” Wonwoo explains, bass voice rich yet primordial, “I liked the pictures you sent me. Really, really liked them.”

A question goes unsaid on Junhui’s tongue as the younger pushes his back into the former’s oral cavity, tangling and drinking up the vocal affirmation that comes with every touch, every squeeze, every press of his clothed chest on the bare nubs. Wonwoo finds his hand wandering on its own, picking the older’s plush ass up with a pinch of craving and curiosity, wanting to know the secrets hidden underneath threads and layers. As if a button was pushed, his boyfriend ruts into his thigh and loops his legs to his middle to bring them across the microscopic space faster. Electricity and thunder sets his nerves on fire because each sensation is heavenly on his receptors. The sloppy and languid thrusts are a booming reminder of his own supersonic aircraft, gassed up and prepared for take-off. And, boy, does his entire composition want to take off the clothes that conceal the lace designed to reveal.

Wonwoo peels his shirt off to catch himself up to speed. In his haste, a messy clash of teeth receives his enthusiasm. Lips on lips, chest to chest, the cumulative heat merging them as one is an inferno of desire, his motions spiraling out of his control. The younger reaches down to undo the tie of the other’s sweats, fingers roused and aroused at the future imagery.

He’s at the final loop when Junhui mitigates the pace with a hand to the editor’s chest. “W-wait, Wonwon,” he appeals, his hemoglobin chasing after oxygen molecules.

An inner urge prompts him to lurch towards the beauty, but he’d be damned if he did anything his boyfriend didn’t want. He redirects his energy to arms propped on both sides of the older, ensuring that he isn’t crushing him with undue weight. “What is it, kitten? You don’t want to?”

Junhui is quick to rectify the misunderstanding, shaking his head. “Let’s just s-slow down first,” he suggests, body melting into the sheets.

“Is something the matter?”

“Not that per se but,” he trails off, licking his bottom lip. Wonwoo follows the movement and he growls, missing the plush pliancy on his aching teeth. “I just- what brought this on?”

“I just think you look gorgeous tonight,” is the quick response, a slice of the truth at best. The younger moves back into the fray, but the hand remains on his chest, unsatisfied.

Doe eyes blink twice in his direction. “Wonwoo,” Junhui addresses him with a voice of composure amidst the sex in the air, reminding him of their age difference. “What is this really about?”

The younger sighs and retracts, weight delivered back to the calves beneath his person. Truly, the mind boggles. For how could he possibly broach the topic of a singular piece of dark fabric being the catalyst for his lascivious behavior, the reason why he refused to lend Hansol his messenger bag even for a second after the wedding reception? He smuggles a cursory glance to the older’s crotch, a vivid illustration of its clandestine contents etched into his brain, and looks off to the side, to where a new portrait of a munchkin kitten playing in a field of bay resides.

Except, he’s not exactly the ninja he thought he was, underestimating Junhui’s innate observation skills. “Is this about the lingerie?” When Wonwoo remains unresponsive, the older catches a fit of giggles, cupping his mouth. “Oh my god. It is, isn’t it?”

For the first time in a long time, a rosy blush colors Wonwoo’s cheeks. He keeps his lips sealed to protect himself, but his silence speaks volumes.

Laughter erupts from his lips, body shaking with glee. The younger’s unamused expression is ignored in favor for endeavors to catch his breath. “I guess you must have really liked the pictures then,” the older teases, pinching the other’s cheeks. “Who would have thought that big, bad Alphawoo would have a soft spot for girl undies?”

“I don’t have a soft spot for _girl undies_ ,” he scoffs, wincing as it cracks at the end. Junhui only chuckles more at his attempt at bravado. Things were not looking too hot for him. Wonwoo folds his arms, unwilling to look at the Cheshire Cat grin beaming at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Aww, you don’t have to be ashamed, Wonwon!” the catboy consoles. “We all have our kinks. This is completely normal, and I won’t judge you for that.”

“This isn’t a kink I have,” he defends, frowning. _Was it really_? _Did he really have a lingerie kink_? He’ll have to think about that at a later time. For now, he ponders on how to fortify his poker face from his boyfriend.

The older tilts his head with a knowing smile, seemingly unconvinced, but doesn’t push the investigation. “Alright, if you say so. Nobody else has to know about this anyways. Like I said, this is our dirty little secret,” he giggles.

Wonwoo relaxes at that, inching his way back. “Really? You won’t tell anyone about this?”

Junhui makes a play of zipping his lips shut, throwing away the key for good measure, and the younger’s never felt both fondness and gratitude like this. “Your secret is safe with me, Wonwon.”

“Thank you, Junnie,” he mumbles. He traces the outline of the older’s face with the back of a finger, seizing the adorable way he chases after its warmth. When he maneuvers his hand to cup a cheek, he smiles as it puffs out in his grasp, filling the space with an irresistibly cute grin. “I love you, kitten.”

“I love you, too,” the older reciprocates, arms looping around the younger’s neck to complete the moment with a dollop of honey, sweet and smooth.

The pace is mellow in comparison, a change he can’t really complain about. Wonwoo cards through the brown fringe, caressing the scalp, and lowers himself until their hearts align, in tune with their breathing. While he nibbles on their bottom lip more tenderly, the faint moans that slip out are still an effective kindle.

When he slides his hand into Junhui’s sweats, he’s met without resistance, descending lower and lower until-

 _Oh_.

His hand does a doubletake on its path and is shocked to learn of – no, _feel_ – the threadbare lace on his mechanoreceptors where the other’s boxer briefs usually start.

Junhui blushes a lovely apple red with an accompanying cheeky smile, hesitantly removing his sweats for him. As Wonwoo expected, the elegant fabric decorates his garden with an abundance of transparent petals, somewhat there but also not. Lingerie was strange like that.

Beyond his expectations, however, the sight up close and personal is an entire galaxy away from a simple picture. All the curves and bends are magnified to a heavenly state, the angelic glow of his boyfriend’s tan skin near blinding. Under the tacky lighting of the streetlights, the devilish outline of the older’s leaking cock, strained and pulsating inside its flimsy fabric restraints, is the kind of memory he wants immortalized on his wedding night.

Or not even on their wedding night. Maybe on a busy Monday evening or lazy Saturday afternoon. As they watch Junhui’s Chinese dramas together, all tangled up on the couch. Right before important exams if they need to destress or pop the cap off. He wants to see his boyfriend in nothing but that sinful lace as he pounds orgasm after orgasm out of him, satisfied mewls filling their room with so much obscenity that their bedroom door should come with an age restriction.

Wonwoo can only gape in shock, mouth wide open and watering in the cavity, before the older breaks the veil by bucking up into the air, wordlessly asking him to do something, _anything_ , with the dish served to him on an indecent platter.

His mind swims in a pool of infinite possibilities. To palm him through the material to elicit screams of pleasure, playing between the boundaries of under- and overstimulation. To finger him deeply, maximizing the lace’s open spaces, until Junhui is clawing at him to get the party started. To direct the older’s hand to push the fabric aside so that he can thrust into his tight, tight heat, plunging into the bundle of nerves that has his boyfriend writhing underneath him, begging for more. And…

And…

And _yep_.

Wonwoo has a lingerie kink.

 _Fuck_.

Wonwoo: 2. Junhui: 3.

If someone had told him a month ago that lingerie would become a sight he would actively crave, Wonwoo would tell them that they were out of their mind.

But, then again, he also believed that found footage horror movies were all real until just recently, so he might not be the utmost authority in debunking myths.

After their initial excursion, the online shopping parcels suddenly started rolling in. The younger is convinced that his boyfriend must have picked up a secret double job or sold an organ in the black market or picked up a secret double job in the black market because there’s no way that his salary in Meows n’ Milkshakes could afford the luxurious sealed bags labeled with black, elongated serif fonts.

 _I’ve always had this leftover money that I never knew what to do with_ , the older expounded as he was taking in another tower of boxes inside their apartment. Frugality, thy name is Wen Junhui.

At first, Wonwoo knows that all the glimpses were unintentional. After all, Junhui had a propensity towards strolling around their closed space in nothing but an oversized sweater or a loose pair of sweats. And that’s all fine and dandy, but the lack of a complete ensemble implies a remainder of nudity, the implication a blaring siren at his face in the form of skimpy netting, delicate laces, the flashiest frills.

Undisturbed and unaware, the older continued with his days as normally does, lounging about on the couch with his legs spread-eagle or accidentally dropping utensils only to pick them up in the most pornographic of manners. As for the younger, he spent the first week internally losing his mind, breathing hitched and nose metaphorically bleeding round-the-clock.

He empathizes with all the screaming cat memes Junhui sends him because honestly? Same.

During pizza night, the same night his boyfriend unceremoniously spilled hot sauce on his calico cat hoodie then freely chose to roam their halls in nothing but his white-lace panties, Wonwoo decided to politely ask the older to consider wearing a full set of pajamas while at home because there was a limit to the number of boners he could pop in a single night.

On a regular night with Wen Junhui? Maybe about four to five. He was a sexy man by design.

On a recent basis with Wen Junhui’s newfound interest in lingerie sciences and its technologies? That new [Ariana Grande feature song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yf-PZDQ_34&ab_channel=ArianaGrandeVevo).

But, as the saying goes, Wonwoo didn’t appreciate what he had until it was gone. The moment the older began to wear a complete night outfit, sitting down on the couch or depositing metal chopsticks with clothing on, was also the moment he learned that he _hated_ that arrangement even more than having to readjust his boxers every other step.

Because, deep inside his subconscious, there was an overwhelming need _to know_ , to uncover what was underneath like on the first fated night. His thoughts were plagued with various imagery of Junhui wearing this or that piece, this or that design, this or that color, and he didn’t like playing Deal or No Deal: Lingerie Edition.

Wonwoo tried to be subtle, initiating more hugs and heated kisses than normal to allow his hands to roam his boyfriend’s body to discover exactly what taboo Junhui had hidden under the most irritating pair of plaid pajama pants that he just wants off him. It was temporal black magic, effective in its initial stages, his fingers grazing the lithe skin on the older’s ass and squeezing to ascertain what fabric existed there. Junhui always reciprocated in full, falling into his arms easier, sweat all about his lean body that trembles. On those nights, he always persuades his boyfriend to keep the fabrics on, content with pushing it aside to sufficiently plant his flag.

He hates to admit it, but the orgasms were damn near close to extraterrestrial divinity at the sight of Junhui’s wrecked appearance, the fabric still on his skin but in a state of similar tatters.

However, after a while, he became a little more careless and the other became a little more aware. What he thought was casual obliviousness was actually selective ignorance, apparent when Wonwoo attempted another move while the older was cooking one night.

“Purple bikini,” the other says plainly, tossing his stir fry around with ease. Wonwoo’s hand wasn’t even at its destination yet, but Junhui perceived the touch as if he had suddenly developed Spidey senses. “Just so that you can save yourself the trouble of probing,” he chuckles.

He retracts his hand as if burned from the gas range, even though he hadn’t cooked a lick since he moved in with his boyfriend. “What do you mean?”

Instead of a boomerang, all that returned was a tiny arch of a brow, lips curved, twisted in a way that twists the younger’s stomach. He was caught with his pants around his ankles, something he wanted for Junhui but caught up to him first due to his complacency.

If Junhui’s alluring qualities was already a killer, it’s Junhui cognizant of these attributes that served as the nails to the coffin, the linge-reign of terror merely beginning. Wonwoo soon found himself on the receiving end of his boyfriend’s playful teasing, quips about his now self-evident kink always primed on the lips that knew no fear. Even worse, the younger couldn’t initiate any form of intimacy without Junhui singsonging into his ear, “You can just ask me, Wonwon.” He can’t say he particularly enjoyed being the subject of endless jokes or eyebrow raises, but he supposes that that was the price he would have to pay for landing the older in that situation in the first place.

Try as he might though, he still couldn’t bring himself to fully accept underwear to be something he found attractive on him. One month after the bet had come to an end, the younger remains in a state of perpetual denial. Because only chumps would allow some overpriced piece of fabric be veritable wanking material. And Jeon Wonwoo is anything but a chump.

Unfamiliar with the sensation of humiliation, he hosted an almost permanent sour face each time Junhui would provoke him with intentional glimpses or provocative poses only to snicker at him for staring. In a normal situation, the two of them alone in their apartment, he would find it bearable and just let him off the hook. But he draws the line when they’re out with their friends.

A double lunch date with Soonyoung and Jihoon wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and their usual ramen place was a delight to visit. The playful look on Junhui’s face, however, only spelled trouble.

As the four of them strolled through the mall before their movie, the older suddenly clung onto him tighter, inching his way towards his ears. “Wonwon,” he whispers, tone poisoned apple sweet, “I bet you can’t guess what I have on today.” Before he could even process the challenge, Junhui runs ahead of him, giggling and clinging onto Jihoon, much like the youngest’s own boyfriend.

An erection. Wonwoo is tenting in his jeans all from his boyfriend’s mild tease. All the blood departed from his extremities and pooled in his inflating balloon, his face as colorless and bland as an M. Night Shyamalan movie.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung waves over before approaching altogether. “What’s wrong, dude? You look pretty pale.”

The younger turns to his side, stuffing his knuckles in his pockets to subdue the banana in his denim pajamas. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look so fine. Are you sick or something?”

“I told you, I’m perfectly normal,” he defends, blushing to his ears. “So, can you just drop it please?”

Junhui finally catches up to them, the producer in tow. “Don’t be so mean, Wonwon,” he advises, peering down south to his obvious problem with a sly grin. “Soonie is only trying to help so please try to suppress your _hard-on_.” Wonwoo sends daggers in his direction at the referral, but his boyfriend merely shrugs it off.

“Yeah, no need to be so difficult. You might have a fever. Here, let me check,” he offers, reaching over to check the younger’s temperature only for his hand to be swatted away. “Hey! What was that for? I’m only trying to help.”

The younger falters slightly at Soonyoung’s genuinely hurt pout, but the guilt melts away when he catches Junhui suppressing his laughter by hiding his face into Jihoon’s shoulder, hugging the unenthusiastic youngest to seal the deal. His face turns flat and he grits his teeth. Teasing and jealousy combined, Wonwoo decides that enough is enough.

If Junhui wants to play with fire, he’s going to bring the matches.

Carefully, he relocates a hand to his stomach, gripping the area. “Sorry, Hoshi-ya. I think I just ate something rotten during lunch.”

“Really?” Soonyoung inquires. “We all had the same dish, but the rest of us are alright.”

“I guess it didn’t sit right with me,” he surmises, faking a pained expression. “I think I might go the bathroom, so you guys can go ahead.” Wonwoo turns his attention to his boyfriend whose face is laced with concern. _Bingo_. “Junnie, can you come with me?”

The eldest quickly nods, extracting himself from the youngest to latch onto Wonwoo’s hand instead. “Alright, Wonwon. We’ll just meet you guys later at the cinema.”

“You’re going to bring your boyfriend with you while you do your business? Gross,” Jihoon comments, crossing his arms with disapproval.

“I think it’s sweet!” Soonyoung coos, coddling the youngest. “It’s like the time you suddenly had food poisoning on campus, so I had to bring you some stomach medicine and a change of clothes,” he declares too loudly, earning cursory glances from passers-by.

The producer’s eyes flare up, cheeks a fierce crimson. “ _What the fuck_?! You didn’t have to tell them that!” He thwaps his boyfriend on the back, fuming yet embarrassed.

“Woops, guess it just slipped,” the human tiger giggles, his hug an iron grip around his boyfriend who attempts to push him away to no avail. “Just text us when you’re done. Good luck with the stomachache, Wonwoo-ya!” The pair pace away from them, the youngest angrily lecturing him on proper social etiquette, a lesson which ultimately falls on deaf ears.

With the other couple out of range, Wonwoo tugs Junhui towards the nearest bathroom. The urgency in the action escalates the worry in the older’s voice, trembling when he asks, “Is your stomach alright? Do you need any medicine? I can run down to the corner pharmacy and give it to you.”

The younger zips his lips, intent on keeping his motives under wraps. Junhui opens his mouth several times before ultimately deciding to close it, unable to form any appropriate response for the situation. Wonwoo wants to tell him that he need not worry, but he’ll let his actions speak for himself.

Weaving through a determined crowd of Golden Oldies, the duo enters the nearby bathroom. Immediately, the younger drops to his haunches, scanning for any possible patron. To his bag of luck, they appear to be the only ones there.

“No need to be ashamed, Wonwon. Everyone has to attend to the call of nature some time in their life,” Junhui mentions. As wonderful a sentiment as that was, the younger maintains his peace as he slips them both inside the far-end handicap stall, clicking the lock down behind him. “What are we doing here?”

If it wasn’t apparent for the older now, Wonwoo makes it as crystal clear as noticeably possible with a hungry kiss, tongue, lips, and teeth engaged, his weight pushing his boyfriend up against the bathroom wall. The older stifles a muffled ‘oof’ before it tapers off into a needy whimper. At a snail’s pace, Junhui melts into the embrace, shocked tension liquid and flowing out of his system. Their hearts race as they do, the younger’s lips chasing every twist and curve of the other’s lips.

The younger’s hands proceed to work their way around the dancer’s knots, massaging the planes of muscles on the cheek, the obliques, the thighs, rendering the other putty in his hold. Wonwoo brazenly squeezes his boyfriend’s ass and drinks up the immodest sound that pops out. Junhui slips his eyes shut, face tilting to find the perfect angle for their noses, while the younger keeps his open but creased, enjoying the imagery of his boyfriend turning into a puddle from simple but meaningful actions.

The meaning being sex in its most erotic definitions.

“You’ve been such a naughty kitten,” he lightly scolds as he glares at his boyfriend, beads of sweat collating at his forehead.

Junhui pouts through his uneven breathing. “I-I’ve been a good kitten.”

“Really, Junnie? Do good kittens make their boyfriends so painfully hard when they’re out with their friends and tease him for it?” he disputes, holding him tighter, chests scraping their bodies flush against one another. The older goes slack at the contact, his pebbled nubs only playfully stimulated but apparently at a force sufficiently pleasurable. The younger lightly spanks him for an answer, although he has to reluctantly cup the other’s mouth to avoid drawing attention from the patrons pouring into their location. “Answer me, kitten.”

Muscles tensing up again, the dancer flits his eyes from left to right before relenting, his head mimicking the action. He receives two determined pinches to his side for that, eliciting dampened giggles and a short resistance to the embrace. Wonwoo arranges the brown fringe, an aroma of vanilla flourishing, and he can feel his patience and self-restraint weaken.

“What should I do to you, Junnie? You know I can’t let you off so easily for taunting me for a month with your risqué lingerie.”

The younger relocates his hand to the other’s cheeks, outlining the sharp bends with foxlike curiosity. At the flick of his hips, Junhui clutches for him, neck flexed, pristine, and _bare_ , just asking to be marked. So, Wonwoo does just that. “Wonwoo,” he exhales almost to denounce the action, but his hand that pulls the younger closer to him says otherwise. “I-I want…”

“Tell me, kitten,” he whispers, voice guttural and raspy in a manner known to entrance, and enlists the help of his teeth to leave blooming red flowers on the golden skin. The younger marks a trail from the base of his jaw to the shell of his ear, reveling at Junhui’s failed attempts to silence his breathy desire, and laves on the sensitive area with his tongue. “Tell me your fantasy. Indulge me.”

Doors swing shut and the faucet runs one moment only for the dryer to come to life the next. It’s an orchestra of mechanical noises that drown out the older’s weighted inhalations, the skip to his heartbeat, but the younger can hear understand him just fine. “I want y-you to fuck me, Wonwon.”

 _Shit_. His cock hardens in his jeans, throbbing against the material. Junhui must be Aphrodite turned mortal because it’s unreasonable for a grown man like him to be this close to a nutting nutty nut this early on in their illicit affair from a mere seven words, one even stuttered out. “Really? Your fantasy is for us to do it inside a bathroom stall? Seems a little inappropriate.”

Junhui whines and closes in on himself like a flower in reverse bloom. Though, the gentlest of caresses is all it takes for him to open once more. “It’s not about the location.”

An immoral lightbulb pops off in his brain. “If it’s not about the location, then what is it about, kitten?” When the older faces away, a famed wildfire spilling on his cheeks, the younger continues his work on the blank canvas. “Does it turn you on?” he inquires, admiring the equally scarlet and purple marks and expression dawning on Junhui’s face. “The idea that we could be caught at any moment? That someone can walk in on us having sex? Is that something you enjoy, Junnie?”

The older keens but nods, nonetheless. Wonwoo would be lying if he said that he wasn’t turned on by the concept, more so that it came out of his boyfriend’s usually tame lips. Though, he supposes that, with the way the older had him on a ball and chain for a month just from damn _underwear_ , maybe Junhui wasn’t as vanilla as his favorite shampoo let on.

“Alright, kitten. I’ll play along, but only if you can keep quiet. If we get caught, we could be seeing some jail time. Public indecency is against the criminal code, you know?”

Junhui’s eyes round out at that, cheeks flushing whiter than their porcelain environment. However, there’s a fire in his eyes, something akin to determination, one that spells out an immense want that the younger simply can’t refuse.

With one hand, Wonwoo claims the fluttering lips that call out his name, his teeth near puncturing down on the muscles. His free hand descends, tracing the plane of abs concealed by yet another oversized hoodie that did not actually belong to the wearer. He tugs on a belt loop, asking for permission, and receives the signal when the older’s hand fumbles down to tear down the golden gates for him.

He parts for air only for every ounce of oxygen to be pushed out of his lungs at the sight. As the zipper sinks to its base, patches of color shine through the blackest night of skinny jeans. The light from above is an ugly yellow, Junhui turns a bright orange with bashfulness, and the tightest red thong reveals itself in almost cinematic fashion, the younger’s eyes narrowing its vision to the bulge in the fabric, patches of darker crimson tainting where the older’s cock ends.

A primal urge overcomes his senses and, in the next millisecond, Wonwoo’s already pulled down Junhui’s skinny jeans all the way down to his ankles. The dancer squeals but hurriedly muffles his cry, remembering where exactly they were. The younger marvels at the statue, rock hard and enchanting, fairy whispers light in his ears that direct him to break the rules and touch the artwork in all its glory.

Extinguished, wanton moans pour out from the other’s knuckles and Wonwoo despises the necessity for silence, missing his boyfriend’s melodious symphonies. However, he’ll settle for the beautiful way Junhui unravels to the barest of threads from repeated yet targeted palming motions, alleviating the growing tension in his loins.

“Wonwon,” is a constant sound the younger can decipher from the ramblings and his chest puffs out with pride at the knowledge that only he can see someone as radiant as Junhui, so raw and natural in his grasp. Wonwoo snakes a hand to the small of their back, tugging on the Y-cut to add another sensation of friction, a blooming flower in the garden of euphoria. “Please d-don’t tease me…” the older whispers, hands imploring the teaser to act with more acclaim.

“After the month I’ve been through, that’s rich coming from you, kitten,” he snickers.

Another argument dies on Junhui’s tongue when the younger inserts his thigh between his aching legs for him to rut against, shamelessly and obscenely. “F-feels so good.” Act of mercy aside, Wonwoo didn’t anticipate how much the hungry action would turn him on, almost climaxing inside his boxer briefs just from the eagerness of his boyfriend to relieve himself.

“You like that?” he muses and yanks on the thong to give every grind an extra lift. “Do you think you can come like this, all hot and needy, fucking yourself on my thigh?”

The older rapidly shakes his head, clutching Wonwoo’s jacket almost pleadingly. “Don’t wanna come yet, Wonwon,” he mutters, a wrecked sound that finds its way into the younger’s dick, his jeans almost bursting open from the mountain range erecting there. “W-want you inside me.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, heart galloping in his chest. _Calming breaths_ , he internally stresses, mentally screams into his ears. Junhui was never the most direct person in the Book of Pointed Pointers, so this day was packed full of questionable surprises. However, as much as he wants to pound into his boyfriend’s tight heat at that very moment, there are certain logistical issues that require addressing. “I want to, kitten, but we don’t have anything we need right now.”

Choppy grin on his face, Junhui meekly reaches for something in his back pocket pulling out and – _oh_. Wonwoo can’t help but smile, diabolical in its intentions, at the _packets_ of lube presented in front of him. And he’s certain now that Junhui’s not as innocent as the younger made him out to be. Looks can be deceiving, but that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing.

“God, you’re such a naughty kitten. Did you really expect us to do this today?” he arches a brow, composure set on his face, but itching his nails for a bite.

“I always keep some on my person,” he confesses, tiny giggles overflowing. “Never know when the necessity might arise.”

“But you’re not an omega in heat,” Wonwoo jokes, eyes kinder yet teasing. “We can always head on home if we’re really desperate.”

“Sometimes, it just can’t wait, Wonwon,” the older half-moans, still flicking his member on the engaged muscles. “But, if I were an omega,” he says, turning his face away like he’s unsure whether to continue. “If I-I were an omega, I don’t think I could ever go a day without you.” He then proceeds to really push a button, pull a lever, flip a switch, tugging on the younger’s belt loops as he whispers, “Alpha.”

If resolve were a bridge, those words were the flood that brought down the metal foundation. Wonwoo swoops in to kiss him hungrily, a more determined tongue impatiently pursuing its entrance into their mouth. He laps up the sweet melodies that can’t find its way to the bathroom tiles and pushes his leg in further to reward his boyfriend with seconds of ecstasy, honestly craving a plate of it himself after neglecting his own telephone handle’s incessant ringing.

Suddenly, he spins Junhui in place, the other quick to brace his hands against the wall. With his anticipation rising, he comes face-to-face (face-to-cheek, really) with the dazzling showstopper, the mystery he was aching to uncover underneath the older’s layers of cotton, denim, and provocation. He rips open a packet, drizzling his fingers with lube and allowing the liquid to warm up, and ignores his boyfriend’s back-sided kicks. Not everyone has the privilege to see a magnum opus in its prime, so he maximizes his Boyfriend Benefits Card at that very moment.

Looking at the evidence now, Wonwoo concludes that his lingerie kink isn’t directed precisely at the microscopic, provocative, surely-not-made-for-males underwear, but what – or, better yet, _who_ – the fabric encapsulated. Junhui was usually a person who hid behind his groupmates during a presentation or would sign up for a school production only to favor making the props, not too comfortable taking up a lead role despite possessing the innate visuals for it.

In essence, the lingerie put Junhui’s modest nature in the highest of contrasts. Red and green, yellow and violet, blue and orange, white and black, the older’s oversized hoodies and the skimpiest of laces. They were two clock hands pointing 12 and 6, striking dissonant chords, but everyone’s well aware of color theory and how variety appeals to the eyes.

The underwear had an undefinable synergistic effect, further highlighting every feature his boyfriend wasn’t directly flaunting on his own cognizance. Endless planes of naturally sun-kissed skin that send make-up back a century. Firm and toned obliques, the small of his back a point of comfort and allure, that taper his body into the finest of inverted triangles, a true Dorito personified. The perkiest and roundest ass accentuated by the rosy red lace, the watermelons attached to juicy thunder thighs that could probably run for miles and miles if they wanted to. Salivary glands: Activate!

Furthermore, the month of not-so subtle ploys and lascivious antics aside, Junhui accepted Wonwoo’s kink and even made the effort to model his newer wardrobe around that interest. Never once was the younger truly ridiculed for it nor was he rejected whenever he made advances brought on by his fabricated turn-on. If this isn’t love in its purest, strangest, and most unconditional forms, he doesn’t know what is.

So, yeah.

Wonwoo is going to make this _really_ good for him.

Figuring the older has had enough of his imprudent staring, playful kicks now vicious, Wonwoo brings a heated digit to the rim, circling the area in preparation of the preparation, and breaches the ring of muscles with ease. Junhui nervously sighs at the intrusion, back muscles flexing rigidly at the intimacy in an open space, so the younger kisses their nape, scenting him and imparting words of comfort. Like that, his boyfriend relaxes slightly into the embrace, the only tightness remaining in their sphincter.

One finger deep, Junhui’s body shivers and his hold on the wall turns into clenched fists, much like his own hole. The younger maintains the dull pressure before working on its drilling motion, retracting and returning gently to allow the older to adjust. “Just like that, Wonwon. Oh, _God_ … feels nice.”

Two fingers in, Wonwoo mumbles tender praises into his boyfriend’s ears, kitten licks for both solace and concupiscence. The older thrusts into the air, seemingly seeking additional friction. With one hand preoccupied with finding the center of Junhui’s Earth, the other resumes its tug on the red thong. He curls his fingers on the material, pulling it as far back as possible to fully utilize the relief the material can offer on the other’s leaking cock.

Three fingers working, the younger curls and searches for the plush bundle that’s known to elicit a reaction so renowned, he wants it etched in the back of his memory. He knows he’s found it when Junhui hurriedly hushes his wanton cries on his arm, the body under him shaking with want. The spot is a luxurious beach resort, and he takes his time admiring and abusing the waves of pleasure that wash over his boyfriend’s constitution, back arching at the hottest point of undeniable bliss.

“Right there, hit it again please. Want it _deeper_ , Wonwon,” Junhui keens, moans slipping beyond his control. Wonwoo foregoes the occasional whimper that tumbles out, but the moment the bathroom goes almost dead silent, he claims his lips as a romantic gag of sorts, the older’s head twisting almost uncomfortably. To compensate, the younger twists his tripartite tool, fingers bottoming out and maintaining constant tension on his prostate.

“You’re taking my fingers so well and deep in your needy hole.” To demonstrate, he swipes on the area, and the shivers about his digits are instantaneous. “But tell me something; does this fit your fantasy, kitten?” he mumbles, hot breath fanning the flames. “Sex in such a public place is exciting, isn’t it?”

Almost on cue, someone tugs on their stall door. Junhui magically avoids squealing but he rises to full height, sweaty back against Wonwoo’s puffed-out chest. The younger remains undisturbed, using the position to thrust his fingers in further using his undervalued corkscrew, screwing the digits into his ass. Despite the continuous trials on the door, the older acts on impulse, gripping on the wrist almost in warning. “Wonwoo, p-please,” he pleads, voice gravelly yet quietly mellifluous, tears streaking his face. “I mi-might come.”

“Occupied,” Wonwoo calls out nonchalantly, luckily enticing the patron to concede. He returns his attention to the moon in his orbit, the older’s moon flexing his fingers in deeper like it can’t get enough. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Junnie? To come with all these people mere inches of faulty plastic away from witnessing your fucked-out face?”

The older’s melanin glows, systemic blush endearing. “Nooo,” he elongates as he sighs, eyes drifting shut when the younger curls his digital tripod. “Oh, oh, _yes_ … O-only wanna come with y-you inside me.”

Had the pair not been in a shoddy handicap stall with the most hideous lighting imaginable illuminating their vision, Wonwoo would pinch his boyfriend’s cheeks with adoration and fondness. But reality is a bucket of glacier cold water to the face, a thrust of Junhui’s butt on his fully elongated dick, and he decides that the cute gestures can come after they do.

“ _Fuck_ , Junnie,” he hisses, biting down on his gums to avoid ramming his deprived member in too early. “You think you can take it in now, kitten?”

Junhui nods then rests his head on the crook of Wonwoo’s shoulder when the latter withdraws his slicked fingers. The younger tears open another packet and applies a generous amount to his hand. Meanwhile, the older puts himself to work, stripping off his top and setting it on the metal railing. He crosses his legs restlessly, fingers intertwined in a scolded kindergartener kind of way.

“What’s wrong?” the younger inquires when he sees the sudden nervousness filling their space. He’d reach out for a hug, but with the way his fist hugs his solid erection with lube, the reassurance will have to wait a second.

“Well,” he starts but then bits down on his lip, charming and captivating. After a short while, Junhui divulges, “I wanted to see your face while you fuck me, Wonwon.”

Someone better check online for a solution and close the program because Wonwoo.exe has stopped working.

In the time it takes for his system to reboot, a number of processes beat him to the finish line ribbon. Seconds pass and Junhui is already stripped down to his most savory layer, save for the filthy red thong that ignites the bull’s conviction in the younger. The immaculate skin turns hotter at every flip-flopped breath, so Wonwoo reattaches his chilly lips on theirs, equilibrating in temperature and rhythm. A minute ticks and tocks past them and the older has a leg looped around his middle, bringing their clothed erections together, half-cups of friction a blessing materialized in silver, gold, and pre-cum.

As soon as Wonwoo.exe comes back into play, his limbs act faster than his mind can comprehend. With a determined huff of air, Wonwoo lifts his boyfriend against the wall, taking advantage of the tension to sneak his rocking king cobra right below the ever-deep cobra’s den. Their eyes widen similarly but for different reasons – Junhui and his shock at the show of strength, the suddenness of an action they had never attempted, to Wonwoo with his hyperdilation at the older’s writhing body, hands shakily grasping his shoulders for leverage.

“Wonwon,” his boyfriend pleads with trembling loops, “Are you sure about this? I might be too heavy. I recently gained weight and I might hurt-“

As soon as the idea is tossed in the air, the younger quickly shuts him up with a kiss that steals his breath away, the stretch on his neck a royal pain worth bearing through for the plushest lips that freely open with the smoothest of coercion. Each content mewl is liquid petroleum to his grease fire, no amount of doubtful water sufficient to fluff out the flames and his persistence to keep his boyfriend hoisted.

“You talk too much, kitten,” he kindly scolds, reciprocated by a cute pout he can’t help but snatch with a peck. “Your body is beautiful, Junnie, and I’m in love with all your nooks and crannies. So, if you gain weight, which you haven’t, just so you know,” he rectifies, eyeing the older’s six pack subtly peeking out of their hiding spots, “then I’m just going to have to lift heavier weights to accommodate the changes. I’m always going to want to put you first, so have some faith in your boyfriend.”

Junhui crimsons at the words, shy with glassy eyes. He nods and positions himself in turn, mouthing a muted _I love you_ before adjusting the lace to seat himself.

Wonwoo mutters a silent curse into his boyfriend’s chest as soon as the heat envelops him. He hadn’t realized the degree of neglect he left his dick with until every single nerve inscribed in the engorged muscle-more-commonly-known-as-a-bone was stimulated beyond relief, somewhere near euphoria. Knees almost buckling, he reinforces his grip on his boyfriend’s plump ass, kneading the muscles there. While waiting for the signal to move, the younger takes his time to congratulate his dedication to spending more time in the gym with Soonyoung (and his unfiltered mouth) for his newfound strength.

Above him, Junhui appears to be fairing no better, claws digging into the younger’s shoulder, face contorted in the way that makes Wonwoo want to lick him. “You’re s-so big, Wonwon,” he stammers. Even after years of being together, that straightforward swipe at his ego never fails to enkindle his competitive spirit. “Feels so good.”

The younger tangles his fingers in the thong, stretching the mildly elastic fabric. Witnessing the force of the fabric on Junhui’s wet cock is entirely different from hearing him unwind from the clothed pressure, his face morphing between pleasure and gratification. The sensation of the lace near his dick is borderline ticklish, but he ignores it for the unique way that his boyfriend can make lady’s underwear indescribably attractive.

“You can move now,” the older finally whimpers after what seems like months of balancing on the edge of Mt. Everest’s summit. Wonwoo retracts his device just as Junhui climbs, their rhythm still not aware of the company memo on Who Does What. Regardless, when the tip of his cock reaches the end of its sheath, an obscene slicking noise embellishing their space, the younger thrusts back inside with valor.

The thing about sex with Junhui is that it’s loud. And he doesn’t mean accidentally playing music from a phone in the library type of loud, short-lived and embarrassing, yes, but never for more than a few seconds. He means a baby relentlessly crying in the bus, violent leaf blower in autumn, Seungkwan when he’s arguing with Mingyu kind of loud. Persistent, lengthy, and head turning in the sort of way they can’t be when patrons are pouring into their location to let out different fluids from their bodies.

So, Wonwoo takes it upon himself to hush his boyfriend with peppery kisses, mild yet spicy, seasoned in its practice. He rolls his tongue in its embrace and tastes Junhui melting further into their linkage. Muscles relax and flex simultaneously, tension evaporating from the initial contact but engaged in thrust and clench.

“Are you enjoying this?” he teases, hips chasing after the summer sun. “Do you enjoy sucking up my cock with your needy hole, unable to sing for me all prettily like you normally do?”

The older exhales, sagging down to the base and tightening his sphincter. Wonwoo almost loses it right then and there if not for the pointed fact that his boyfriend has been on edge for far longer, and he’ll be damned if he finishes with the older unsatisfied. Instead of reprimanding him, the younger attaches his lips to the other’s areola, stifled cries out of sight, and alternates between the nubs. Instantly, Junhui resorts to bobbing his pelvis along the length, the drag divine for both parties.

“It sucks I can’t hear your voice, kitten. I love the way you scream when I do this,” he descends to the second octave, baritone appeased, and yanks on the red thong to brush the fabric against the older’s even redder hotdog. Junhui keens, neck protruded backwards, Adam’s Apple prominent and marred with purple marks.

Junhui’s heart trots from where the younger’s lips are attached to his nubs, each beat rewarded with a ravenous suck. “Feels good there,” he exhales, the elevated pitch an angelic choir. “So full…”

At that, the older cruises deeper downstream, battling the current like his life depended on it. Wonwoo widens his stance, lending himself a touch of leverage to ease the slide while keeping his boyfriend in place. “God, your ass is amazing.”

“Mo-more, Wonwon… it’s not enough,” he craves and claims, though the mass of sweat dripping from his back says otherwise. “Need you deeper.”

“You’re already knee deep inside, Junnie. I don’t think I can go any deeper,” he semi-teases, semi-explains for his benefit. Furthermore, he doesn’t want the other to tear a muscle, even with his permission.

Junhui whines and grips on the younger’s raven hair like a tantrum. “More, more, more please,” he quietly chants, diving against northbound current, riding the Phillips screwdriver of his life. The older drives his heel further on Wonwoo’s back, physically pushing his member onto the abused nerves, both of them pieces of paper torn into crumbs.

“Behave,” he warns with a vice grip, additional roses blooming in wherever location he can get his hands on. “You promised to be a good kitten.”

“I am a good kitten, Wonwon,” he contends with more composure. “I just thought you’d want to make the most of this moment together.”

He has to squint with confusion, partly interspersed with a thrill ride running up and down his spine. “Junnie, you’re literally riding my cock inside a public bathroom stall,” he reminds him, scoffing. “We could be caught and arrested with one false move. This is as carpe diem as it gets.”

Junhui actually shrugs, throwing away the rebuttal like yesterday’s newspaper. “If you say so, I guess.”

“Excuse me?” Trickles of gasoline convene in his brain, the words a wild spark. This isn’t good.

“Just feels vanilla. It’s so unlike you.”

And then there was an inferno, his competitive spirit coming alive and boiling hot.

It was bad enough that Junhui was turning him into a chump with the underwear he wore. But he won’t stand there, straining his biceps, dick the hardest it’s been since yesterday (okay, so they’ve done it every day since the lingerie became a thing, big whoop), and allow his boyfriend to run his mouth, calling the sex by baking ingredients when it’s actually a butch steak dinner, a diamond in the rough.

Wonwoo takes Junhui’s body back onto his, ramming up into him, thrusts empowered. He gives the older no time to recover as his pace doubles, the slide permitting him to retract far enough to wring him dry of his voice. The younger sternly yanks the brown mop closer, staring at the tears forming there, a smug wrinkle on his mug, and kisses the air out of him.

There exist two bodies in the bathroom stall, but the spots where these connect are endless and its expansion has only begun, the Big Bang of Intimate Encounters. Curling toes on his back, his tongue on the other’s mouth, jaw, neckline, the nails that dig into his skin, his palms caressing the malleable butt to ease a reaction out of Junhui, the velvety skin of his cock abrasive on the elastic surfaces that hold the joys of anal sex – the infinite warmth of these spots send tingles on the younger’s skin, goosebumps in function.

His boyfriend reaches for his pulsing blaster gun, but Wonwoo instinctively swats the hand away. “No hands,” he growls, pounding up with surging earnestness. He tries not to take it personally and, instead, focuses the adrenaline to tongue the feverish skin, Junhui shivering in response. That seems to work its magic since the hand no longer pursues the rattlesnake, rather, pushing the back of the younger’s head towards him to heighten the licking sensation.

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” the older wails into the ceiling, the sound of a shoddy hand dryer as their shroud. As the machine comes to an abrupt stop, Junhui gags himself with two fingers, forcing the digits so far down, the younger fears he might actually choke. What results is a celestial portrait, all his boyfriend’s holes filled and leaking bodily fluids, a sheen of sweat adding surface drag on their writhing chests, eyes glossy yet shining brightly. Even with the most wrecked expression sprawled across his face, Junhui manages to look endearingly beautiful. Wonwoo thinks he’s the luckiest man alive.

Eventually, the lingerie becomes overly burdensome with the way Wonwoo has to set it aside with a hand ever so often, a hand with greater purposes than guard duty. In a fit of pent-up sexual frustration, he rips the thong in two, Junhui’s wanton moans stretching out farther than the fabric, and tosses the remnants somewhere behind him. “Think I’m still playing around, kitten?” he confronts, the power of two hands in his ballpark. He keeps the weight supported with his left as the right finds its rhythm carding the older’s hair. In an inverse fashion, his boyfriend was more susceptible to his nut with more delicate motions. “You’re such a good boy, taking my dick so well. I can’t wait to paint it all up.”

The catboy is unresponsive, eyes glued shut and hips trembling where it wants to fumble in deeper. “S-so good, Wonwon,” he repeats like a dirty prayer, Wonwoo’s cock his religion. “I think- I-I’m gonna…”

“You’re going to what, Junnie? I can’t understand you if you stumble on your words like that,” he teases, thrusts merciless on the other’s prostate.

“I think I’m close,” the older whimpers, digits tapping on the younger’s shoulder like a plea. “Ca-can I come now, please? I-I can’t hold it in anymore…”

“Not until you tell me who made you come so much, kitten. Tell me who’s the only one who makes you scream for your release,” he propositions, sucking on his ear lobe, balance wavering at the sensations near a cranial nerve. He fashions a makeshift cock ring, fingers constricting the base of Junhui’s leaking cock, furiously throbbing. The sight is immaculate, a masterpiece in hues of red, but Wonwoo won’t let himself be swayed or humiliate himself by blasting his champagne bottle first while forcibly hindering his boyfriend’s orgasm. That’s just bad sex etiquette. “Indulge me one more time, Junnie.”

Second thoughts out of the window, Junhui mumbles out, “Only you, Wonwon. Only want your dick inside me.” It’s almost barely audible, appropriate for where they are but inappropriate for the younger’s demands.

“What was that, kitten?” he calls and feigns ignorance, creasing his brows. “I can’t hear you all too well.”

“Wonwon, there are people outside,” he cries, a pretty color on his cheeks.

“And isn’t that the idea?” he contends with a smirk. “You’ve been so quiet this whole time that I’ve missed your exquisite voice. Can’t you sing for me just this one time, Junnie?”

Junhui crumbles faster than overbaked cookies and gives in, losing himself again in the thrusts that pierce the veil and swinging his hips deliciously. “Only you, Wonwon,” he cries, slightly louder but still with an indoor voice. “Yes, Wonwon, just like that, _please_ ,” he bellows and voice cracks.

“That’s it, Junnie. Sing for me,” he coaxes, very Phantom of the Opera of him. “Let everyone hear your beautiful voice as you come for me.”

As soon as his fingers relinquish its restraint, Junhui taps on his shoulder like a drum beat, the telltale sign of his impending climax. “I-I’m gonna…” He blisses out of existence, hiccupping and heaving for air. Just as he feels the end inching closer, Wonwoo reaches over for the flush button atop the toilet, drowning out his boyfriend’s unshackled mewls as he clears out his pipes. Rivulets of hot, sticky white soar through their space and land on the older’s stomach, abdomen straining as he literally _rides_ through his orgasm, pushing the clump of nerves down on the younger’s other head, devoid of a brain and filled with rushed blood. The constant pressure shakes out pulse after pulse, his legs going slack in contrast with the solid erection discharging its contents.

The sporadic actions around his cock have Wonwoo coming soon after, pulling out just as the first wave of cum paints his boyfriend’s ass, the liquid collaborating with the excess lube and dripping down. Groaning through the frenzy, he bucks up high into the other’s exterior heat, lubrication a heaven-sent feeling on his dick. He would have wanted to persevere for longer, but he gives in to his basal desire, unable to resist any further as Junhui claims his lips in a tender, sated kiss, movements unhurried just like a kiss in the middle of a field of hydrangeas.

Wonwoo slowly lowers his boyfriend, the latter sagging on his shoulders with a muffled thanks. He reaches over for the toilet paper and wipes the material on his boyfriend’s body, chuckling when he brushes Junhui’s overstimulated member, precious whines and whites coming out. “Sorry about that, kitten,” he whispers, throwing away the used tissues. “How are you? Did I hurt you in any way?”

“I’m alright, Wonwon. I really enjoyed it,” he reassures, a dopey smile on his face. “You were smart to pull out when you did.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he jokes, rubbing on the cooler skin on the older’s curves. “We still have to meet up with Soonyoung and Jihoon later, so I didn’t want you walking around with cum in your ass.”

“Right. About that…” Junhui sighs, hugging his middle like a request, swaying their connected bodies. “Can we go home instead? I wanna take a hot bath.”

The younger sighs too but fondly. “You’re such a spoiled kitten,” he claims with certainty, but aids his boyfriend back into his clothes anyway.

“But I’m your spoiled kitten,” he throws back, stars glittering in his brown irises, and Wonwoo’s unbelievably whipped.

“Mine.” He plants a chaste kiss on both sides of Junhui’s smile, then another right on the lips, leaving him breathless. “I love you, Junnie.”

“I love you, too,” he replies once oxygen refills his lungs, stealing a final peck. “Thank you for treating me so well.” The older tumbles into his skinny jeans before he stops mid-thigh. His eyes flit around before landing somewhere behind the younger, still zipping himself back into order, and he pales out. “Wonwon, my…”

Buttoned up, Wonwoo takes the blank spaces in the older’s sentence and follows his line of sight to the partition between stalls. Beyond their reach but within their vision, the ripped thong lies flat by the adjacent stall, alarm red against the white tiles. “Shit, sorry, kitten.”

“What do we do?” he asks, hiding behind the sleeves of the younger’s jacket. “Someone might see it and think something’s up.”

“Do you think we should pick it up?”

“We have to!”

Wonwoo wets his lips and mulls over his options. There’s not much, however, seeing how the fabric was a ticking timebomb. Seeing no other passageway out, he bites the bullet. “Alright, let me see if I can grab it.”

He drops to his haunches, glad no other patron was occupying the stall, and dips a hand under only to recoil back when the nearby door swings open. An immature wail rings out and squeaky footsteps distancing itself make him cringe.

“Dad, there’s a red snake next to the toilet!” some kid yells, probably pointing to the misplaced lace’s location.

The couple share a mortified look as the entirety of the bathroom is emptied, frightened conversations and calls for emergency services loud like sirens outside the entrance.

Wonwoo sends Junhui a sheepish smile as the latter’s soul departs from his person.

At least that was another location off their bucket list.

One word he would use to describe the feeling of going commando is ‘exposed.’

Wearing lingerie was one thing, an excitement in his belly at the sensation of whatever little material perceptively featherlight and near non-existent covering his skin. But knowing that there’s absolutely _nothing_ now is a whole other thing.

On the outside, people see what they see – a normal couple walking down the mall, minding their own business. But Junhui can’t help but overthink the glances that last longer than on average, as if, by some omniscient power, these passers-by just _know_ something is amiss. As if they notice limp in his step or the tug on the crotch of his jeans every couple of steps. He’s never been one to let things get to him, but his mind won’t stop replaying the thought of someone just putting two-and-two together and pulling them over to call him out for it.

By a stroke of genius, Wonwoo suggested they stuff their underwear in their pockets (well, Wonwoo’s in his pants and Junhui’s thong in his pocket) and ever so subtly slip out of the bathroom like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred in the handicap stall, like the smell of sex in the air was from a bad lunch and not a primal hunger.

They came out of it unscathed, but that was really the least of the older’s worries.

Because now he must endure the twenty-minute walk back to campus with his mind that won’t quit playing a million impossible possibilities.

In consolation, his boyfriend holds him close with an arm around his middle, a shield almost against onlookers. He’d be thankful for the gesture, but something about Wonwoo’s smirk negates any semblance of peace he’s supposed to be feeling.

As soon as they round the corner, a mere straight path ahead of them, Junhui lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He hums as Wonwoo rubs sides, slow and gentle like a lover. Which he was, he realizes, comforted by the thought.

And that’s exactly when the fox strikes, when the prey feels overly complacent. “Hey, kitten,” Wonwoo whispers, bass voice amplified with a tone the older recognizes from the month he spent purchasing lingerie online. He doesn’t like where this is going. “I bet I can guess what you’re wearing underneath now.”

The hair on Junhui’s skin jumps like his heart rate and he blushes a wildfire all the way up to his ears. He bows his head down low, the hood of his jacket sheltering him from the storm of the younger’s smugness, while clinging onto the latter who has an amused grin permanently inked on his face.

In theory, the time he spent poking on his boyfriend’s lingerie kink was also the time he started accumulating negative karma, and it was only a matter of time before it all caught up to him.

Junhui would tease him for liking his lingerie and the material would find itself on the receiving end of vicious claws. Alternatively, he would provoke him by claiming to be unsatisfied with the sex and his boyfriend would exile him to the sex dimension. Truly, all his attempts at toying with the younger and his competitiveness was another shovel of dirt closer to his grave.

Perhaps too late, Junhui realizes that it’s truly impossible to top Wonwoo (in all of the verb’s connotations).

Because, in the end, Jeon Wonwoo _always_ wins.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was… okay… Despite my messy train of thoughts, I hope this fic lightened up your day somehow! Thank you for reading! (*˙˘˙)♡


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